


Blessing

by IllusionaryEnnui



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Magic, Deception, Demons, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fear, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Control, Loss of Trust, M/M, Other, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slash, Tragedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusionaryEnnui/pseuds/IllusionaryEnnui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A blood-soaked city in the distance, the prince in exile seeks to reclaim his homeland, but not alone. Would his people bow to a mage consort, that tie made for her own protection? Demons swarm and madness seeks to undo what good they wrought, whatever power they win paid in blood and sacrifice. Retaking Starkhaven was never thought to be an easy task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Blessing Received

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning, a realization and a gift...

_Destiny changes  
Whispers of promises lost  
The Queen of light calls_

The Free Marches trundled by as a coach persisted in its journey beyond Kirkwall's last claim. Young trees bowed in the wind whilst birds of prey rode the currents, nature unhindered by the coach's passing. As it rattled onwards, gray-tinged clouds crested the peaks of the Vimmark Mountains. After the sun set and the moon hung prominent in the sky, Prince Sebastian Vael imagined rain to blanket the valley. Yet the coming storm, a traveller's bane, held no great interest for him. Even more than the reclamation of his homeland of Starkhaven, more than the loss of his dear Grand Cleric Elthina, it was she who drew his fractured, dithering concentration; the Champion, sorrowful, broken, and lost.  
Hair awry and her eyes glazed, Maria Hawke sat across from him, her features unable to completely express the turmoil within. The hood of her cloak drooped low and cast her face in shadow. Each line and curve of her face and form etched itself into his memory.  
Even now, Sebastian caught a glimpse of that look of defeat that overtook the remains of her control as she collapsed outside the Gallows...

* * *

_"This - this is wrong..." Maria Hawke choked on her words as her knees buckled beneath her and her staff tumbled from her weakened grasp. "All of them dead. Dead because of fear, because of anger. It's all wrong..."_

_"This - this is wrong..." Maria Hawke choked on her words. Her knees buckled beneath her and her staff tumbled from her weakened grasp. "All of them dead. Dead because of fear, because of anger. It's all wrong..."_

_The carefully maintained façade crumbled and crushed the mage with the lies. Kirkwall's Champion, gone. Her sobs echoed against the high walls while her anguish drowned out the shouts and muffled clangs of metal. It was as if the earth, the very world around them acknowledged the pain of those whose blood stained the stones, engulfed them in near stillness save for her cries. No one saw the one they named Champion after the battle that night, only a shade of a shattered woman far removed from a simple existence._

_"Hawke..." Her name died on the prince's tongue, his own grief quelled, overridden. Her empty gaze robbed him of breath. Whatever warmth they once held, its fires sputtered and were extinguished. Yet, his respect did not waver, nor did his heart. Screwing his courage, he grabbed her arm and dragged her up from the flagstones, purposefully rough. "Come."_

_She offered no resistance when they escorted her from a battlefield unlike any other. Sebastian's stalwart fingers never left hers even with silence as her only answer to the comfort. Deeper into the city, Aveline led the group through Hightown, Fenris at their backs to cover their retreat and together they fled to the Hawke Estate. Orana fell upon her blood-spattered mistress with a cry and her desperate sobs for her mistress's well-being deafened. Maria's hand squeezed Sebastian's tighter, unwilling to be parted. The prince touched her face, his actions more reassuring than any words and she surrender, the little maidservant then guiding Maria away to her chambers as she fussed over every scratch and bruise._

_Midnight became dawn by the time the last of their companions slipped in the stillness of Hightown. Varric among them was the most enthusiastic of them all. Armed with a plethora of anecdotes, each fabrication more fantastical than the last, the night continued to dazzle and amaze, bloodshed mere spice. Unshakable, that one._

_Only Starkhaven's sole surviving heir chose to linger._

_"Messere?"_

_His bow lay on the table some metres away from the fireplace where he stood. Without thought, his hand reached for it out of instinct. Orana's startled shriek when he rounded on her checked his adrenaline-addled senses._

_"Mistress Hawke asks for your presence, my lord," the shaking elf said, the fabric of her apron wringed between her thin hands. "I am sorry... I- I am afraid for her. If anything were to happen..."_

_Nothing would happen to her, he promised. Never again. Now was the time for action, something he should have done long ago._

_"How would you like to serve a prince, Orana?" asked Sebastian, his voice level but carried with it authority like thunder in a storm. "If you care for your mistress, do as I command."_

_His directions were clear and precise, so he left her to the tasks as he mounted the stairs. Blood pounded in his ears, but he had made his decision - he would finish what he began without closure, the loss of the Grand Cleric too great even with their last conversation fresh enough to comfort him. In the back of his mind, he prayed she smiled down on him and approved._

_On the landing, light flickered from the open door and spilled onto the floor outside her quarters. The heat of the hearth permeated the room when he entered, his steps quiet but quick. A great tub sat before the fire where it basked in the heat, cast darker shadows into the bedchamber. One bloodied arm hung over the side, its hand twitching amidst. The other cradled her head, her red-rimmed eyes unfocused but staring into nothingness. She barely moved as a chair scraped across the rugs, lost to the melancholy._

_At first, Sebastian found himself unable to look upon her modesty out of shame, rather than his vows. Nevertheless, temptation proved stronger and his eyes strayed to take in the sight of a woman divested of all her armour. There was nothing left but the shell of her, a body and nothing more._

Maker help me.

_His licentious gaze swept across the swell of her bosoms, pressed against the tub with a sheen of the bathwater which glinted in the firelight. Piercing blue eyes travelled down one side, crested over the curve of her wide hips and down the thigh overlapping its twin to thankfully preserve her dignity. Wanton thoughts burned him with ache even as the Chant of Light ghosted from his lips to calm his fevered mind._

_Six years of tension released for the chance to console a soul in mourning._

_Trembling fingers reached out, not for just for him, but something real, something to anchor her sanity. In every movement, in the silence, he saw the truth of her need. Bowman's hands brought them to his lips, his mouth dry as they accepted silence._

_"Can't stay here." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible above the crackle of the fire._

_"I know."_

* * *

Maria had spoken not a word since the proposal. While the coach rocked and swayed on its path to Starkhaven, there she sat, mute and withdrawn in her thoughts. In the solitary moments, Sebastian studied her like one might a priceless painting. Even drifting between states of consciousness, he thought her beautiful. But it was more than that. It was a beauty derived itself from her essence, however, tormented it might be. Everything she accomplished, every word her lips formed, possessed a purpose. Although too many worked against the grain, they still rang with her will: to do what she believed to be right. His people needed a ruler - she fought to show him that no other would suffice. For six years, she tried to give him what he really wanted in the deepest part of his heart, what he wanted but never fully realized. Yet, he knew he could not do it alone - he need her more that he cared to admit. But what was he to do when the one he loved, the one needed most, retreated now from even his company?

_"You build her strong once more."_

Deafening was that voice. Everything became stillness and silence, Sebastian's breath caught in his throat, his chest tightened. Only light filled the carriage's windows, the mountains beyond lost in its dull shine. He could not even feel the stony road beneath them, the carriage smooth as if stopped. Eerie as it was, it was awe which gripped him even tighter.

Delicate fingers petted Maria's cherub cheeks, the mage's eyes closed in fitful slumber. A sheet of fine hair tumbled in a cascade from the unearthly woman's head, pooling about her waist. Her gown, silver as moonlight, hugged her form to accentuate each flawless asset. She wore no adornments except a filigreed circlet of silverite, an opalescent jewel glittering upon her brow, and a fine chain, looped several times about the ivory column of her neck. From the delicate chain another gem dangled, a teardrop between her breasts which caught the pale light pouring through the carriage window.  
The prince gazed at her face and he turned from Maria to the woman and back. Maria shifted beneath her cloak, unaware save for whatever tormented her in the Fade. The hood of her cloak slipped from her head, eyes pinched. A hand shoot out to grip her hand, Sebastian's fingers tight on hers.

"You have neither fear of me or of the Fade. The demons tempt her, but she is strong enough there." Her feather-light touch upon his shoulder drew him away. Her soft smile held sorrow, a lifetime of sadness. But in her eyes a smouldering light brightened her visage, a hidden secret beyond mortal sight. "You are fortunate, young prince," the lilting voice said, clear as the sky on a winter morn. "The Maker gave me many blessings, but perchance this one more than any other I do cherish. Fate gives so little in return, but many things are constant – oh, it took Him so very long to understand it."

Those same fingers reached behind her neck and waves of silken tresses glided over the smooth flesh. Familiarity confounded him, although he could not place it. Nonetheless, unbidden, Sebastian's hand closed around the pendant when she dropped in his palm. Pale hands cupped his fingers while they curled about the gem, the chain slipping between them.

"A gift, dear one," she murmured as her lips brushed his knuckles. "I do not want your vows, your promises. Turn not away from this path. This one's heart sits broken, its salvation lies within yours. Together, maybe then can you find peace among the remains."

Her face drew closer to his, the dim light aglow around her. Stunned, the flush of recognition flashed across his cheeks. The woman's mouth curved into a gentle smile as she pressed her lips against his own, not demanding, not commanding. Sebastian's eyes fluttered closed and with a great thump, he felt the carriage moving beneath them once more. Every noise of wind and wood creaked and as Sebastian opened his eyes again, he find himself alone.

_Was it all a dream?_

A weight still rested in his palm. His fingers unfurled to find his mother's locket pooled in the cup of his hand. He remembered it as easily as the day his grandfather told him the story, given to his mother as a gift for his own birth. It felt so strange then as its scrollwork flickered and scattered sunlight, the three spirits of Starkhaven's crest writhing infinitely together around the chalice of the Wardens during the Second Blight. It grew warm and shimmered like starlight, its heat seeping through his skin. Then the metal began the flake. Sebastian's eyes widened as the flakes crumbled. Silver powder began to fill his palm, the locket turning to dust until a shining gem remained, too familiar.

_Blessèd Andraste!_

How could he have known? Where had his grandfather found such a relic or hidden it so carefully? What did it mean? Had he gone mad? Had - ?!

He sworn again, nearly dropping the precious stone as Maria's piteous whimper roused him. Her fists clenched as the nightmares ripped through her shattered mind. Worry replaced the daze even as the chain choked his fingers. The prince's gaze darkened, his body like fire when he slid next to her. His fingertips rose to caress her cheek. She did not awake at his first touch, but her body shifted into his arms without pause. A kiss fell atop her head and the scent of her filled him with hope. His thumb traced patterns on the tear-streaked skin, meant to rub away the pain which wrought them - he knew not what else to do. Small hands gripped his shirt, but her whimpering slowly ceased, chased away by his warmth.

There, he saw it and again his eyes grew wide: the same curve of the mouth, the same eyes - how could he not see it?

But, after six years, all he saw was Maria Hawke and he wanted her, every battered, broken and beautiful piece.

"Sebastian?"

A leathery, sun-browned hand strayed into her hair and it brought her to him, his actions gentle as his mouth met hers. How long had he craved this? Six years and never once had he taken what was offered, desired. He left her breathless and that, in itself, granted him joy. This he would have never found in the Chantry. Maria's lips parted and he accepted the challenge. Her hands crept up his chest, hesitant but yielding. Sebastian's own drew her tighter, snaked behind the mage to brace her spine and tugged her hips closer. His kisses left her mouth to trail along her jaw and to lavish her pulse where his tongue tasted sweat and a headier essence. A shuddering moan cast him back.

_Too much, too fast._

"No, it's more than that." She twisted to face him, her thighs shifting to straddle his long legs. Although her stomach fluttered, she stayed her course, the sudden desire of flesh overcome by devotion born of ardour. Save for that contact, she held him at a distance, her expression a mixture of confusion, of pain, and of wonderment. Her eyes had yet to meet his, all of her willpower spent to maintain a selfish need to veil herself, to disguise the distress and the longing deep in her heart. "There's naught left of me to give you. It's all gone – the influence, the power... everything..."  
She sank in his embrace, given to sobbing against his chest.

Sebastian said nothing: as if he could know the full workings of the Maker's will. But now, he knew more and he pushed aside her hair. Still tangled in his fingers, he looped the silver chain about her neck.

_Yes, this is where it belongs._

He counted each loop, named them after each pass.

First loop, their past.

Second loop, the present.

Third loop, a future.

Some day he would have the answer, but not today. 

He graced her throat again with another kiss as she looked up, her face crimson and raw. Lithe fingers followed the chain to the pendant nestled between inviting breasts peaking from beneath her robes, loosened in her slumber. His own joined hers to touch the cool, smooth surface, the barest hint of magic taunting them.

"A crystalline Tear of Andraste." Her breath slowed, shallow and in awe. Her father had told her fanciful legends of the gems - crystals of such great power unfathomable by man, fashioned by Tevinter mages from the great Lady's own stolen tears. Such was worth more than the entirety of a ransomed kingdom. No better gift could be imagined. One touch and precious stone responded to her magic, tingling with unseen power; it was genuine. "But where - ?"

"It does not matter," Sebastian protested with a distracting smile. Beneath its mask, he hid his emotions with honed precision, unwilling to give in to baser instinct. Instead, he swallowed his own desire, heady and heavy. His expression hardened, the words readied for longer than he dared recall. A new vow rolled off his tongue with surprising ease. It felt strange but necessary, despite the hardship it would bring them both. Unlike his proposal, this sentiment held a sweeter tone rather than the desperation of that night. "You once said that whatever I asked, the answer would be yes. Then allow me this, a simple promise - though I have taken you from your home to protect you, grant me your favour and all that I possess is yours. Know that I love you."

The pain would never cease, but Sebastian knew peace might yet be had if only they sought it as one, his secret spoken the truth. On every breath, he prayed to be the one to guide her, to give her hope as she once had for the former brother he once was in another life, an old life that lay behind them in the ruins of Kirkwall. In every moment, he would give her purpose and impart strength. Though he never spoke it aloud, he wanted to love her without reservation, not simply saying the words in his heart. He only hoped she felt the same and healed from the wounds that ran deeper the flesh.

Still, he awaited her response with building apprehension. All the while, he tracked a lazy path across one breast - he wanted more than words. The act earned him a shiver and he craved more, his fingertips altering their path to graze her clavicle. Sebastian teased her lips with another kiss to coax an answer from her. He wanted this, needed her as reason left him. What he felt was something more than physical, more than water to quench a wildfire or the direst thirst. He could pretend, if just for the moment, that nothing loomed to taint that prospect.

Sebastian Vael's future demanded Maria Hawke, the former Champion of Kirkwall and scion of the Amell family - no one else could fill that void.

Pain of many flavours released its grasp, its sting faded by slow degrees. He felt her heart drumming beneath his fingers, quickened by his words and actions. In her eyes, he glimpsed a glimmer of the hope, the unspoken wish for completion, to be whole once more. Every fibre of his being begged to be the pillar of strength, to defend her from not only the world, but from herself. As Prince, he could give her so much more, spurred by duty and need. With Maria at his side, even only in company, he felt absolute. What wonders lay before them if only she accepted him entirely, the title and the man, and stepped beyond the ashes to find herself again?

Outside, the Free Marches grew darker, the shadows of pines blending into the grass. Night fell in the space before the dwindling flame burned brighter. After a long, bated silence, Maria leaned forward to whisper tender words in his ear. Demure but resolute, she submitted to the fate he gave her to took that first step forward.  
"I am yours if you would have me."

Even if he had neither a copper nor crumb to his name, he would have throw away everything for that answer.

"No other would do."

Though it would take time to fully accept the life, the Maker and Andraste Herself had given him this blessing - he dared not squander it, if only he could justify the new stirrings in his soul. In the wake of hope, Starkhaven raised higher in mind, another promise yet untouched. If only it was farther away, he dared to imagine, but there was much to be done. No rest lay ahead on this wearisome path plagued by doubt and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To older readers - been on a rewriting spree... trying to make it more believable and enigmatic without sacrificing too much. New readers - I hope it's not too bad because I really didn't want to redo the whole; I'm too far into this to sit down and do a complete rewrite. All I hope for now is that it is a bit more balanced... and grammatically correct (I swear, sometimes I don't think I'm even conscious when I'm typing... bloody awful.) I'll be reposting chapters off and on.
> 
> Regardless, please accept this "thank you" for reading and I'd like to throw out another word of gratitude to Lywinis for taking an interest in me.


	2. A Blessing Received

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misfortune smiles...

_Come swiftly striking  
Cast down your demons, dear one  
For you, all is done_

Over twenty days of overcast skies, spouts of relentless rain, torrential winds and lightning prolonged their journey. Yet, they persevered, the long days blurred into one another until they reached that last stretch. It was at the border of the principality where Maria Hawke first witnessed a glimpse of Starkhaven's hospitality when an honour guard intercepted the prince's party, alerted by messenger some weeks ago.

"Your Highness -" Third Company Captain Mathieu Briggs, the long feather of his glengarry bonnet sweeping, bowed. "- I humbly beg your pardon, Sire, but with no word from you in a fortnight, we were beginnin' to think that these bloody storms might've thrown you back to the Waking Sea."

At first glance, Maria Hawke painted Captain Briggs in her mind as a fairly affable fellow, his dark hair slicked back from his face and grey eyes sharp for duty. Each of his men stood at parade rest, their kilts and fly plaids of crimson, black, and pale stone-gray tartan - the royal sette - crisp and clean. From the coach, Hawke took note that even their boots appeared polished and their elaborate dress sporrans and sword hilts gleamed with meticulous care in the half-light. 

Nevertheless, she kept to herself, a quiet spirit among men. For both her sake and another's, she submitted under Sebastian Vael's rule rather than her own lead.

Taken into the Company's ranks, Captain Briggs directed the party into the village of Srath Karin, Starkhaven's furthest settlement, some three days from the capital. Srath Karin boasted a robust atmosphere, hard-bred people who loved to laugh and who enjoyed their labours. Sturdy dwellings lined the well-kept thoroughfare. Happy children and their parents wandered the streets as the escort passed by, curious onlookers standing in faint awe. 

Near the centre of the village, the proprietors of _The Valley's Bounty_ \- a rotund gentleman and his petite wife - bent at the waist, their fellows following their example. This was not the stiff reception the prince and his companion had expected.

"It's about time, Your Highness," said Ellar Beckett with a warm smile and an inelegant wave of his arm.

Ever the soldier, the good Captain rounded on the innkeeper for such casual speech but he drew back when Sebastian raised a weathered hand.

"Your acceptance astounds me, Serah Beckett," said Sebastian, his eyes betraying his surprise.

"We're loyal to the House of Vael, Sire. No one here would deny your parents that legacy.” Beckett's devoted timbre shaped his words, little notion spared for the repercussions. "They were good people."

A few instants of _hear, hear_ and others rose like waves and filtered through the crowd.

Beckett's steadfast support brought the gentlest of smiles as Maria attended from the travel-worn coach. The allegiance these people held for a prince they did not truly know as they granted him merit on his name alone, it lightened her heart. The power in a name was unlike any other. She herself found herself entranced by their prince where he stood, so tall and so confident before the throng. A maiden's blush raced across her cheeks. Little did she sense the several pairs of eyes beginning to take notice of the prince's companion. Someone cleared his throat and every gaze that fell upon her made her flinch, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the shadows - it was as she had been crowned Champion once again, a title and light she had not desired. Yet it was Sebastian’s grin, kinder and sweeter than she could imagine, that drew her to him when a calloused hand offered itself. With as much grace as she could muster, she stepped from the coach into the light of their stares. Sebastian squeezed her fingers, her only comfort amidst the sea of soldiers and peasants.

"Ah, ladies and gentlemen, may I present my betrothed?" The prideful brogue made the mage's heart dance and her blush deepened to a ruddy scarlet. Ringed by confused faces, her eyes darted to the time-smoothed cobbles of the street. Her stomach knotted. Her breath quickened. Her heart drummed a more erratic tattoo against her ribs – fear reigned among the superstitious. Did they know her? Know a mage stood before them?

A low murmuring undulated through the crowd, queries and comments a whispering chorus. But it did not last. Bowing low before her, Captain Briggs diffused their gossip and assumption. Relief built with his roguish smile and the captain took up her hand, bending to kiss the bloodless knuckles.

"Allow me to be the first to thank you for the return of our Prince and formally welcome you to the lands of Starkhaven, milady."

* * *

Inside the prince's rooms in _The Valley's Bounty_ , the storm in the former Champion of Kirkwall's mind raged in greater force, more than a match for the clashing fronts over the farthest outskirts of Starkhaven. Twenty days she and the prince spent in peculiar companionship, accepting more comfort in the tentative touch of hands than in few words they shared. It was assurance; the knowledge that he was there which calmed her. They did not spend their nights in reckless abandonment, in an entanglement of naked limbs; betrothed or not, mutual respect demanded it, or so Maria believed.

Everything had changed since their flight. Sebastian kept her at his side but did not share his affections beyond the casual brush of skin or a chaste kiss upon the cheek, never pressing for more. Yes, he was polite and charming, but he reserved, withheld. His smiles were true, yet his poignant stare spoke of a longing for more that he denied. Hidden, some restraint chained him away, just beyond her reach. The depths of those stark blue eyes flashed with a brewing turmoil that mirrored hers, separate but the same. He never met her gaze, nor would she meet his. Sometimes she wondered it was regret that form those chains.

Yet, every night he cast her into confusion as without a word he led her to his bed. At first, she balked at such boldness until there she slept, pillowed in crook of his shoulder with nothing more than a whispered “good night”.

Was it he who had designed this detachment, burdened with a truth known only to the prince himself? Did the memories of his vows haunt his thoughts? Or was she to blame, masked in shame and fear, in loathing the past and the reality she could not change? She did not understand it nor could she understand him. 

From the bed, she marvelled how calm Sebastian appeared on the outside. It was an odd sight, his mouth agape as his breath hissed a slow rhythm in his sleep. His chin, propped up by his forearm on the armrest of the great chair, cushioned itself in the cradle of his large hand where the fingers curled onto his cheek. The dwindling blaze in the hearth drew conflicting shades across his face and clothes, his armour exchanged for a simple cotton ghillie shirt and trews.

A part of her truly loved him, grown too accustomed to his company in their companions’ absence. Prince or no, she knew she would stay if only to see him contented - he meant too much to her now to simply walk away. There was the man who fought at her side and chose to give her purpose once again with a need that matched her own. 

Even so, her mind remained ill at ease. Wayward thoughts consumed her. In the darkest hours, she prayed for a sign, a word to ease her troubled soul. When she found no answer, she assured herself to seek them out - without amity between her heart and mind, how could she help the one who mattered most?

For hours she wrestled with her thoughts until something drew her from them, a strangest need for fresh air rising.

Certain that Sebastian remained fast asleep, Maria crept from their bed and stole into the wet Starkhaven night, wary to escape notice by the Third Company guardsmen. Ever cautious, Captain Briggs had stationed small platoons around the inn and the whole of Srath Karin. She let her feet guide her past their ranks, through the muck and darkness, drawn to something beyond its veil. The last lanterns dissolved into the blackness of the night to leave only a three-quartered moon, semi-hidden in shadow, to light the winding path. 

Maria paused only long enough to pour a wisp of magic into the Tear of Andraste - not once had she let the gift leave her throat. She cast out its glow before her steps and forged onwards. On the bank of a brook, she caught sight of her reflection - the dark circles beneath her eyes, the haggard look of her skin, all so prominent in the half-light. It disgusted her. There, the former Champion of Kirkwall – no, just a woman, a mage – sank to the ground, shaking, and tugged her cloak closer as tears carved shining pathways down her cheeks.

How she reviled herself. What had she fought for all these years? A title? A home? A life?

Fate's hand forced, she chose to execute the only mage who shared her freedom. She was betrayed by the ones she defended, even after a futile sacrifice. She gave up the prospect a seat of power by her own volition, the most likely place from which to soothe and mend the festering wound left by misdeeds. Whether by chance or by desire, another had brewed chaos while she sought peace, a chaos that only a small part of had been caused by her own hand. 

Were these things done for love, for a righteous purpose? No, she chided, the word bitter in her mouth. These were birthed from selfish reasons and desires - these were the consequences of choice. And she despised herself for them, hated its power. And the magic...magic was a gift and a curse, she spat at the shadows.

"Maker, forgive me." Her prayer echoed, the rushing water masking a trembling cadence. "I am a fool and sinner, but... I cannot live without this. I fear it will consume the thin thread that binds me to him."

Desperation reigned in the hate and the ardour, the sadness and the guilt as magic boiled in her veins, in body and soul, within and without. She filled herself with the memory of them and melded them into a single, thriving construct. Maria's hands crackling with energy, the Tear of Andraste quivering against her breast, she released a great bolt into the sky. In it she expelled all of her frustration on a thunderous cry until nothing remained to hold her up. She slumped back and sobbed soundlessly, unable to move as the rain began to fall once again.

_"You give yourself more pain that your sins warrant, child."_

Hawke's gasp vanished among the thunder of the rekindled storm.

"Come, now. Is that how you greet an old friend?" cooed the Witch of the Wilds, her laughter low.

"Flemeth." Hawke panted, her magic seeping away - another magic worked in the ether, something more than just exhausted weighed the mage's body to the earth. "Flemeth... Flemeth, what is this? What have you done to me?"

Beneath her cloak, the Tear of Andraste began to hum and twitch, heat radiating from its core.

The ageless dragon of a woman stepped into the moonlight, unchanged and brimming with power as rivulets of water ran from her crest. A snide smirk marred her dark lips whilst amber eyes bored into her prey. The witch's smirk grew wider and she let out a throaty croon.

"Though She may favour you in a manner I do not, this farce amuses me. But I have a purpose, as I always do," she answered, her tone no more than feigned importance as she waved her hand. Disdain then poisoned her speech, her glare hardening once again. "Foolish, little mageling, you cannot rid yourself of your pain, your fear. Denying it will only bring you more. You will bring the one you so covet down into your Void and smother him as you wait."

Flemeth's will writhed in Maria's veins, plucked at the strings of her control and her magic.

"You believe you merit more? Then allow me to grant that which you so crave. Let us see if _**I**_ can satisfy you. Maybe then you will learn its value and that of true magic. Allow me to bestow upon you what you truly need."

If she screamed, Maria could not hear it through the roar of the white-hot pain searing through body and mind. Her chest seized as if bands of iron had settled and tightened there. She could not breath, nor see or cry. Every nerve alighted, paralyzed.

_"Wait."_

* * *

A silent cry tore itself from Sebastain and he snapped awake. The sudden hurt dulled but still remained, constant and worrying as a cold sweat soaked his nightshirt.

_Maria?!_

Even without the light, he knew her gone. The sense of her, that warmth, the perception of her presence did not fill that place - to him, it was empty and lonely like the Void.

How long did he have? In moments, he dressed in his armour. The harsh white gleamed in candlelight and he strapped on his quiver. Bow in hand, Sebastian barked orders to the men guarding the inn and Briggs organized them in hasty search. He wanted to cry out, to blame them but he reined in that anger - what could they have done against a mage? Marching out into the mounting downpour, he left a stunned and anxious Orana to worry and tremble as she watched him disappear into the night.

Had it not been for the shimmering radiance blazing across the cloud-filled sky, Sebastian was certain he would have lost his way. He knew magic on sight. His jaw set and an arrow notched, he slipped through the sheets of cutting rain.

His fury fuelled him, not only the wrath of his incompetence, but contempt. Had he drove her away? Set against her, he had poured his strength into discipline and respect in an endeavour to master the insatiable emotions, those unbecoming of a prince, which returned to him in that first kiss. Yes, he had withdrawn, forced himself to be satisfied only with the barest of intimacy and asked nothing more of her until the time came. He was a man of two minds, a man of love and a man power - two sides at war. As Prince, he could shield her, but he may never have her, duty and rule at odds with his wishes. Sacrifices would have to be made. For that sake, he tested himself only to face failure. Out of the want, he chose to resign himself, to hold her at a distance. But at what cost? Maker, it would have been easier to hate her, blame her for all - but for all his worth, he could not. How could he not deny that he indeed adored the bride led to him by the Maker? Seared into mind, he had made her a vow, a promise unlike any other, one he refused to sever, to willingly break. 

He would not fail her now.

When Sebastian broke through the copse of trees onto the brook's embankment, his grandfather's bow nearly tumbled from his grasp.

The Witch of the Wilds, the Chasind had named her. Icy dread threatened to take him like a spiteful poison as he caught sight of Maria, her features contorted like a madman's dream. The light emanating from the Tear of Andraste did nothing but enhance the twisting shadows. Terror banished as rage fermented, he found the words and the resolve.

 _"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."_ Sebastian drew back the tight bowstring to where the arrow's shaft brushed high on his cheek. _"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written!"_

The final words surged forth in a snarl as the he loosened the shaft. He winced as wood abraded flesh with its flight. The prince did not linger to witness if the arrow found its target. Rather, he rushed to Maria's side.

He did not reach her.

The air around him congealed. New magic flooded every sense, crushed the very breath from his lungs. The Tear of Andraste, cracked and burning like a newborn sun, shattered and engulfed the night in a blinding whiteness. Sebastian's hands flew to cover his ears, deafened by pure magic's roar. Seconds elongated into what a dying man might call hours until the ringing ceased. Even robbed of sight and thrown to the ground, Sebastian lashed out into the unreal darkness. He abandoned reason and his bow in his search for Hawke. He called her name in a frantic mien. He cried out until a keening voice broke through and his fingers latched onto the tatters of her cloak. She shivered in his arms as she grasped for him, pulled him closer as if she was afraid of falling into some unknown abyss.

"I heard Her," she sobbed over and over, her voice a trembling thing in the rain. "I heard Her..."

Hours later, the guards found them, mud-splattered and blind.

* * *

Sucking in a deep breath, Sebastian exhaled a fraction of the tension gnawing him to the bone. Eyes closed, he stood before the hearth. His vambraced forearm lay along the mantle as he let the heat wash over him, his forehead pressed against the cool metal. The smoke of the fire aggravated the wound upon his cheek, but to him it was trifling a matter. Near his fingers on the great stone mantle, a crystalline glass of fine Tantervale spirits sat untouched.

Three days.

"It saved her life," the former Tevinter slave muttered as his emerald gaze scrutinized the blackened shard of Andraste's Tear. "Danarius once told me that it does not only give power, it takes power. It must have mitigated whatever magic that witch conjured; otherwise..."

He dared not continue. Instead, Fenris let the delicate chain slip down the segments of his gauntlets, the glittering shard swinging from his forefinger. Even he must lay prospect to the subtleties of fate.

"Wherever did you find it?"

To the query, the prince offered him no reply, stoic and silent. Nothing else mattered; the price had been too great.

"Have you considered my offer?" said Sebastian to him in the answer’s place as he prayed that the elf would demand nothing further of him. How could he not give the elf pause in the truth, the truth that a vision of a holy woman had given him the relic?

The prince heard the warrior move from his place at the table. Fine, supple leathers shuffled in the stillness as Fenris placed the broken gem on the mantle. Silence filled the space between them. Fenris chose his next words, cautious of their delicate nature.

"I would not be here if I had not. But know this, I will serve no one save Hawke," the warrior said, unmovable in that choice alone. "However, I first must ask something of you."

"Fair enough."


	3. A Blessing Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pleasures given... NSFW

_Seek not, wounded heart_ _Memories hold no power_ _Abandon the past_

Colours melded together, everything smudged into an indescribable blur and light stabbed. Blindness would have been a welcome affair instead what remained. It would have brought her to weeping, save for a far worse horror...

Just beyond her reach, her magic lay imprisoned, cold and isolated. Once, it flowed, commanded by the merest thought. Now, not a single spell reacted to her summons. No breath magic whispered through to ease the ache of loss. That definite part of her, so unchanging, had walled itself away in the aftermath of Flemeth's relentless assault. The last of her reserves she had poured into Sebastian, leaving little to heal her own blighted eyes.

Now magic rejected her. Without it, she felt not whole - incomplete, all else a trifle by comparison.

"What use is a mage who cannot call upon her mana?"

"I'm sure I can think of a good one," her companion offered, his smirk weak. His attempt at humour failed, the elf rose to sit at the edge of her bed. Her hazy sight struggled to make out the lines of his face, but she knew he was smiling, if only in part. Cold metal brushed her cheek and she looked away. "How do you fare?"

She shook her head and a new wave of nausea seized her stomach.

"How can I help him now, Fenris?" She pleaded for an answer, unable to find one herself. Her tears obscured further as sense of wretchedness washed over her thoughts once again.

"You stand upon your own feet," he replied and then leaned down to kiss her brow. "Sebastian, though he will not speak the words, has forgiven you of the past and now drowns in his desire for you, in his love for you. Magic or no, stand by his side and you will give him strength as you have given me my freedom. But, Hawke? You must promise me this: you will tell him the truth."

Wide-eyed, a shudder tore up her spine.

"Who -?"

"Can a younger brother not care for the elder sister? It does not matter. You need to remember that you're all that remains of his family now, Hawke." Emerald eyes took in the expression of terror that flashed in her eyes and regretted this course. Regardless, it needed to be said. "And Sebastian... he will understand."

Seeking fingers sought to assuage the old wound when the rough and ugly scar throbbed in remembrance.

"I care for you, Hawke. I am here, should you have need of me."

The balance of the bed shifted. With that, the lithe warrior left her to her judgments, gone to stand guard outside the bedchamber door. After it closed, Fenris heard the heavy blankets rustle and dissonant sobs become stifled in down. His heart broke at the sound in lamentation.

* * *

Orana caught her master enter her mistress's chambers, a curious little smile alight on her lips. Possessed by a kind heart, her mistress deserved happiness. Without reservation she that the new master could bring her mistress such joy. Offering a curt nod towards him, Orana made swift work to pour the last of the boiling water into the bath and then make her retreat. She spared him no words as the master made to express his gratitude and left, intent to grant them some privacy.

"Good night, Orana," muttered Sebastian to her shadow. He expected Maria to be sound asleep in their bed. His mind raced, unwilling to face her. How could he, learned of that darkest hidden memory from one she named as blood? Bone-weary, he moved towards the screen separating the room. His breath hitched when found her seated on a little ottoman by the fire, a half-empty glass of Antivan brandy at her feet.  
One hand continued stirred lazy circles in the steaming water. Her shaky gaze tried to hold his, but focus proved too great an opponent.

"Three days," she murmured as she rose onto unsteady feet. Braced against the tub, she managed to stand before him. "Three days you've worn this armour." Trembling fingers hunted the buckles of his vambrace, the fine movements sluggish in their execution. Piece by piece, Maria stripped him of that telltale armour. The pads of her fingers lingered over new scratches and dents, ashamed of a master's work tarnished for her sake. After the greaves, she tried to straighten, ton continue on but the world began to slip sideways...

Then it righted itself.

Safe in her prince's arms, his long fingers jerked her face towards his own. Unable to look away, she felt that intense blue rouse something. It fluttered and reeled when Sebastian's mouth slanted over her still sweet lips, the taste of brandy lingering. 

_No, not yet,_ came her voice, unheard. Weakened and panting, she could not allow him more and pulled away, his frown another lance to the heart. But she did not waver as she returned to her unfinished task and the buckles of his mail soon parted. Sebastian aided her as best he could without hindering her progress, quick to shrug out of the undertunic. They pause again for Sebastian to kick away his boots before she touched the hem of his shirt. A brief nod allowed her to do away with its sweat-stained weight, too. Beneath it, her fingertips skimmed the taut flesh and she left sun-browned skin bare in the dim light.

He tried to chuckle at rush of colour that returned to her cheeks and her eyes again strayed from him. However, his amusement died when he caught an upsetting glimpse of a memory deep inside.

"Nothing you can do will earn my disdain. I don’t need a viscountess as my wife, as if I need more power. Nor do I require a champion to frighten my enemies and assert my rule. I would have you as you are. Look at me, sweetling." He implored for acceptance, craved it. Rough fingers stroked the feverish flush, repentant and kind. He wanted to her to tell him. He needed to understand why she would mask it. "The Maker sees your pain, but allow me to share it as both your friend and your husband-to-be. Whatever you have done to me or anyone else is but wind in the Fade. All can be forgiven."

She denied him. 

Maria stepped away and she turned her back to him. Anger flared but Sebastian quenched it and made quick work of the hardy leather trews and his smallclothes, heedful of the painful twitch as he freed himself. _Another need, another time._ The prince resigned his wayward ponderings for the still hot water of the bath. Slipping into the heat, he closed his eyes to listen and pray that Maria might change her mind. Mindless hands scrubbed away layers of filth, sweat and dirt rubbed deep into his pores. Little by little, the calming heat bested him when he felt her breath upon his neck, a small kiss falling at its base. He felt her pressed her forehead to his back, her thoughts veiled. The mage gathered up the bar of sandalwood soap and washcloth from his grasp. Lathered, she massaged each knotted muscle in utrn, cleaning away the dirt and grime of his negligence. She kissed and nipped along the tanned expanse of his shoulders, collar, and neck.

_Maker, he deserves more than this... so much more..._

Her ministrations ceased and blue eyes opened in longing. That same longing gave way to something incoherent as her hands scraped along his arms and draped themselves over his broad shoulders. Sebastian turned his head to capture her lips. How could he be so kind?  
Maria shut her eyes and dared not to open them until the end.  
Inspired or possessed – he did not know which – his dear mage planted another hungry kiss to his throat. His head tipped back as her tongue traced the pulse quickening beneath the skin. Supple breasts, soft beneath thin fabric of her nightgown, pushed against his shoulder. His mind became blank with the delicate fingers plunging deeper beneath the waters where they made to trail across his chest and traipse along his stomach. Those searching fingers then encircled his length and an unseemly groan escaped. _Maker!_ He should have stopped her, warned her away. Judgment instead kowtowed to the want of her touch, gentle but sure. Attentive strokes and diligent pressing laboured to demolish the dominion he held over his own body and he bit back another grunt of pleasure. Over it all, something else lingered as Sebastian felt the tingle of magic in her touch - a soothing, energising enchantment, the barest brush. It made him smile for a moment before she brought him to the looming precipice, impious and wanton, with a magic she could not otherwise attain simply as a mage. No, this was a magic only of the female form, lover and mother combined and manifested by will.

In that single instant, even Sebastian began to question his sanity for ever toying with the concept of a vow of chastity, even one long since forgotten.

A wilful hand brought his lover's face to his with bruising force as the other intended to connect with hers underneath the surface. Probing, the seeking desire gained him entrance to her mouth, sweet with the taste of Antivan liquor, and she received him without quarrel. The release shook him to his core to leave him breathless as she swallowed his shuddering moan. His lips vibrated against her own with her name reverent on his tongue before she pulled away. Sebastian cast his head back in sated repose and settled back against the tub; his whole being revelled in its satisfied splendour. Yet, at the forefront of his blissful state, nothing reared to explain the unexpected encounter.

Maria, her face stained crimson, groped for her little chair. Relying on touch, her failing sight would have cast the world in a patchwork of undefined colour and shadow, but her eyes had long been closed since before she began. She reached out until her arms hung over her prince's shoulders like a living mantle. Idle hands splayed across his chest, tired but warm. Her shallow sigh blew gooseflesh along his collarbone near where she rested her cheek, the skin hot, in the hollow between marked throat and shoulder. 

"Come to bed." She whispered the heady words into his ear, her lips brushing the distinctive shell. Her voice masked itself a familiar, restless tone. Turning towards her, Sebastian meant to seek an answer that scandalous act, but her withdrawal hushed the notion. No, let her have her secrets - he could not ask anything more. More than willing to obey, the prince sluiced himself clean from a bucket beside the tub, desperate to follow. Yet even in that charge, he was reluctant to wash away the pungent scent of sweat and release - Maker, he had missed it.

Dressing, the eerily soft nightshirt and trousers became a sudden and unwelcomed distraction - nothing felt right. But he not let that deter him from such an invitation. A bemused Sebastian composed himself with care before trailing into the bedchamber.

Maria did not favour him with any notion of her mind save for the remnants of scarlet branded by blush. That same faraway look still haunted her features, knees drawn up to her chest. It wounded him to see her like this, a mere shade of a woman. Standing at the corner of the mattress, a devoutly patient man waited for her sign without question until she beckoned him further. He crawled across the coverlet to kneel at her side, tentative in his obeisance. An unsure hand touched his wrist and grabbed it, drawing it up across her stomach. Sebastian followed until he hovered above her, her legs unfurled beneath him. He did not need words as knelt between her legs and waited, hands braced among the tangles spread across their pillows.

A brother of the Faith knew better than to capitulate to the baser whims, but at her urging, the guise of a chaste man within him seem to vanish. In the brother's place, the stalwart prince of Starkhaven submitted even as he reeled, his body still singing. Her small hand took up his to guide the larger span along her thigh. She swept it over her hip, up the quivering breadth of her belly and slipped into valley between her breasts, beneath which her chest heaved with ragged breaths. Dexterous fingers posed over the lacings of her nightgown. 

If Sebastian had been a betting soul, she meant more than modesty allowed.

"Stop this." His rebuff sounded rather hollow in his ears as he marshalled wavering control. "I would rather savour this. To make you mine in my palace, in my bed. Our bed. Please, don't ask _this_ of me. Not after _that_."

Despite his command, she refused to yield and she rose up onto her fragile arms until Sebastian's fingers caught in the criss-crossing ribbon. Her legs mirrored her actions and the nightgrown rode up her thighs as she brought her knees up to touch his sides. He failed to notice the significance then, even as they caressed his slimmer hips. She licked her lips and it only fanned the newfound flames roiling within, the scarlet glow of her skin another coal to the fire.

She kissed him hard.

"Please, Sebastian," she said, her voice a delicate thread as his fingers coiled around the silk lacing. "What I did may be the only pleasure I can ever give you. Let me show you. I cannot hide it… and you deserve better. Just this once, I'm begging you."

Unlike before, she met his gaze - once bright eyes pleaded for trust, for compassion. She wanted her betrothed to see it - Fenris told her that he would understand, but the recollection mocked that sureness.

Without waiting for him, she reached towards the ties, but Sebastian's own hands prevented her.

_She had given me leave to see with my own eyes. I cannot falter._

Plucking at the strings, he completed the task, slowly and intimately, nothing the frantic beat of the woman's heart beneath his fingers. It troubled him. Still, dark navy cloth shirred away. The swell of her breasts peeked from below and the scent of sandalwood wafted up. For a second time, she took hold of his hand and guided it to the neckline of the gown over her shoulder where her eyes gestured for him to fold it back. Sebastian tugged the cloth down and his eyes morphed into icy sapphires. How could anyone not have seen this? Even he had never glimpsed it that first night when he saw her naked and exposed after the last battle in Kirkwall.

"Se-bas-tian?" Maria's call barely calmed the savage notion that speared his mind at the sight of the unsightly pink and silver scar, a shed tear made flesh. She flinched only at the first touch. It was thinnest along her throat where it began just below her jaw. It flirted with her carotid as it skipped over the collarbone and deepened. The scar continued and sank deeper along the outside her breast. He seemed to ignore the rip of fabric and Maria's staggered squeal of protest, rolling her onto her side. Skipping more along the ribs just beneath the arm, the defacing stroke widened down her side and retracted again as it reached her hip. Its end: a rather jagged carving on the outer breadth of her thigh, imperfect and aberrant. 

Sebastian threw himself away, feet slamming onto the floor as he bent forward. Finger thrust into his short auburn locks, he tried to steady himself, to sate the boiling hatred bubbling beneath another veneer.  
Daring not to speak, Maria gathered the tattered remains of her nightgown about her to mourn the garment's warmth even as she dreaded Sebastian's rage more. Dark eyes studied him, disquiet.

Before he could even think of speaking, the prince leapt to his feet. One hand flew to fist in his hair and other clenched at his hip. Then he began to pace. He crossed the space between the bed and the great window overlooking the silent streets again and again. Each circuit differed from the last: some shorter than others, some more rigid and forceful rather than the wandering of an awestruck soul as if one slip and he would bloody his hand on some unseen foe. His un-tucked nightshirt whipped at each turn, the lacing of the neck beating on his chest.

Too many questions, too many answers. How much truth had her brother shared? Did Carver know how well the bastard had marked her? Did he himself desire it be poured from that kiss-swollen mouth?  
He stopped to fasten her in his hardened gaze.

There he saw the miserable, terrified little woman that slept inside, hidden and buried from the world. She rocked in stillness, the remains of her nightgown clutched to her chest like the pieces of her shredded dignity. Unable to speak, unable to move. Just like the night the wretched templar tried to take Bethany, so careless in the wake of their father's death.

_There was nowhere to hide, but Bethany had to escape. She had cared of nothing else as she felt Bethany slip away from the templar, a thin shield kept her sister's trail veiled. His prizes lost, still the templar sought reward. Prettied words offered themselves, vowing not to follow in exchange for a pittance. Of course, she refused. Of course, he lashed out, dispelling all power. Her magic taken, what else remained but to assure the prosperity of her only stake in life. For her family's sake, she would have done anything, but this should have been too much to bear - how foolish of her._

_Unable to speak, a forced silence, she could not protest the gauntlets digging into her skin._

_Despaired, she cringed at the remembrance of the things he spat in her ear while his lyrium-tainted abilities denied her the magic at her fingertips._

Untouched.

Unworthy.

Unloved.

_The words seethed with toxic intent, each nauseating and foul. But none of them matched the excruciating burn of his hands upon her, tearing at her clothes, his fingers stripping her of innocence._

_"I'll leave you so damaged, no man will even dare look at you. Did you know lyrium is nothing as sweet as true magic? Magic is meant to serve man, bitch; now serve me this night."_

_No more. That had been enough to send her into a blinding fury. She remembered jamming her thumbs into his eyes. In a spitting, blind rage, he scored her with a raking swipe of his hunting knife, but it was not enough. She gutted him with his own sword, magic abandoned, and she fled with the last of her sanity._

"Carver, for all he's worth, helped me hide my mistake. I made him swear to never speak of it to Bethany or to Mother. My little brother stopped coming to me for help after that day. He was so tired of running. We all were, but he had more right than any of us. Every time he looked at me, I could see it in his eyes - why didn't I just give in? With me locked in the Circle, may be then they might've left us alone." She muttered the words in a distant murmur, her eyes fluttering open to blink away tears - it made her feel unclean, able to poison that which she held most dear as Flemeth had assured her. Fury flared and she spat it back at Sebastian without pause. "Who thought to confide my _brother's concern_ in you?! _No_... what does it matter? I understand, I do. But I still feel the vile stain of his touch, tainting. It can't be undone. How can anyone -"

Silenced again, Maria winced when she felt Sebastian's hand upon her leg where the square-tipped pads of his fingers dug into her flesh. Within his eyes, her heart wept at the hurt, the pain that continued to burn. Its sting dismissed, he knelt low and kissed the other leg. He stopped for but a moment to collect and discard the torn remains of her nightgown, taken from her hands, over the side of the bed. Clad in only her smallclothes, his betrothed wrapped herself in her arms against the cold night air, habit trumping modesty. As he inched closer, instinct convinced her to shy away.

"Please close your eyes, my love," he said, his brogue ill-equipped to conceal the undercurrent of grief beneath the compassion. She watched him a bit longer with his hands held fast to her shoulders, pressing her down deep into the mattress, modesty and chivalry overlooked. His willpower helped her drive aside the trepidation and she began to submit, slow but trusting. Nearly naked beneath him, he prayed for the Maker to grant him strength – he had promises to keep but such vow failed to ward him from granting her pleasure in return.

His breath remarkably hot on her neck, he asked her again to close her eyes and reassured her in a husky tone that his too were shut. He had no need for sight, not when he could _feel_ her.

He divested himself of the nightshirt, its presence already showing itself to be an unwanted barrier. Trapped under that stronger frame, this was his Maria Hawke. Only he bore witness to this facet. Everyone else saw the façade. Only he garnered the genuine self. Everything she had ever done, it had been for her family, never for herself. He knew she needed to _feel_ him, anything other than that memory. He want her to feel worthy of herself and of him, to _feel loved._

Rough, scarred and weapon-worn hands danced forth, blazing trails down her chest. They roamed the curves of bosoms straining in their bindings and again alighted on the twitch of her belly. Sebastian's lips traced a parallel path, one hand kneading a full mound while the other holding her close, flush. His next vigorous kiss put her to shame, tongue delved deep to tease and tempt her into the ancient dance.

"Though I cannot make amends for the wrongs of the past, I promise that you shall remember only my touch." He growled in wanton need against her throat when he reared away. His tongue darted out to taste the scar - a symbol of her courage as far as he was concerned. "My touch and _mine_ alone."

Adulation begged soothe the anguish, the hate. He pleaded to give her everything and more if only she would learn to accept that the life she had was gone and only he remained. There was no need to be alone in misery, to hide from one another. She could no more change her allotment than he could change the patterns of the stars. To give and be given, that would be their future.

He set a palm, fingers splayed, on her abdomen and held her still as he slipped his other hand between her legs and past the thin material to cupped her sex with a lustful grin. Delighted by a shocked intake of breath, his thumb sought the bud that would unmake her and he rewarded himself with a stifled sob. Aye, he remembered the place well - the action and the reaction. His smirk broadened at that cry and it became his invitation to thrust a finger into the throbbing heat. Maria flung her arms about his neck, squeezing. She buried her face to suppress another sound. Her fingers curled into his hair and tugged the strands when his attention struck the proper chord. A second finger joined the first and worked in tandem with his thumb for an easy rhythm, wary of the tightness of their host.

The mere truth that she had not shared the willing company of any other appealed to his possessive nature - she was his and no other's to claim.

Sebastian braced Maria's arching spine. At his consoling touch, she rocked against diligent fingers, having found the dance to match his cadence. Eyes opening, he revelled in the abandoned look of pleasure, her sweat-slick hair framing her face as his touch replaced the past. He took his time building her to climax and captured her mouth the moment she began to crest its peak. With a deft flick of his thumb and thrust of his fingers, she tossed her head back, raising up a shuddering howl of his name that fed a swelling pride.

Lost to a haze, she repeated his name again, her voice indolent and small after screaming it. Her arms felt weaker than a child's and her grip slipped from his neck. Yet he was there to catch her, to steer her figure to settle around him. Comfort manifested in her kiss as it repressed against his heart - had she at last begun to wash away the past? Maker, she loved him – faith, title and all. She sank back into his arms, mindful of the talented hand that rested about her waist and curved over her hip. It was wholeheartedly pleasant to feel something other than disguised misery and without any doubt to cloud her opinion, she wanted more.

"Sleep, sweetling." Exhausted, he kissed her with all the strength left to him. With her hand wrapped in his palm, his mind began to wander. The charade would not last for long - the reminiscence of her gratuitous cries, extracted by just his touch, laboured against the restraints of his honour. Tomorrow? The next day? How long could he last until he claimed this woman in unreserved passion? With her leg thrown over his middle, he doubted that it would be long and the hardness in his smallclothes was inclined to agree. With the forces arrayed against them, with the task at hand, would it even matter if they failed? No, it took six years for him to realize this future and he would bide his time until the moment was right. _"Thank you, Carver."_

* * *

_"Fair enough."  
Fenris nodded and motioned to the one of Briggs's guardsmen nearest the door. At his command, the guard departed into the corridor. Upon his return, a vaguely familiar shape filled the entryway, heralded by the clank of chainmail and metal plate. A bark added itself to the cacophony, a loyal friend left behind in their haste._

_"Serah Hawke?" The prince raised his hand in greeting and he tried not to stagger with the forceful nudge of the great Mabari hound that loped in the room. Colder blue eyes fixed Sebastian with a deadly glower._

_"I'm still debating on whether or not I should smash your face into the masonry." Maria's younger brother snarled at him, features twisted by a kinsman's wrath. "I all but threatened Stroud to let me come here with Fenris to chase after the bloody prince who kidnapped my sister. A fine thing, that was - carrying her off into the night. I ought to -"_

_"Carver!" Fenris rumbled over the crackling fire in the hearth, his own hard gaze piercing the Warden - they had their own tension to deal with, but not now. "Put the pettiness aside. Had she stayed, the city would have torn her apart."_

_The younger Hawke gave leave to heavy breath and took a seat at the great table. Uninvited, he poured himself a measure of the Tantervale spirits and tossed it back with smug casualness. To Sebastian, Carver seemed older, more disciplined beneath the armour of discontent. Becoming a Grey Warden must have changed him and Sebastian hope that it was for the better - he did serve a noble cause after all._

_"I'm sorry. It's just that she's all I have left," the boy muttered over the glass, seeming to talk more to the cup in his hand than to the man by the fire. "My sister's been too kind to me, even when I started to hate her. But, she's never let anyone get so close to her, and there's a good reason for it. I owe her this much. Someone needs to know."_

_It pained him to do it, but Carver let it slip, of what she did to protect them those long years past._

_"... There was more blood on her than I thought possible, and not all of it hers." Carver's voice took on a darker tone and memory gripped tighter. "She came to me for help and I almost refused, but we took care of the body. Scattered the ashes. I wish I had seen it, now – how mad the templars could be. May be that's why she's so far gone. What most of us see is what she wants us to see, but inside, I'm sure she's screaming."  
Carver took note of the peculiar silence that overtook the men of the room. He glared at the prince in an endeavour to gauge his response. Yet Starkhaven's rightful ruler showed the warrior nothing that betrayed his thoughts save for the clenched fists of his crossed arms as he stared into the snapping flames._

_"Say something, damn it!"_

_"Carver!" His gauntlets aglow, Fenris stepped toward Maria's only living family. Even if he loathed to take such action, he would willingly come to blows with the Warden for her sake, regardless of their intimate past._

_Respect forgotten, Carve refused to concede to the warning._

_"No, I want him to tell me it's all right. That he'll still love her, knowing the truth." The Warden snarled as he bounded up from his chair. "Tell me, Your Highness. Can you love a mage? Can you really love someone like my sister, knowing what she did? All she's done? Or will you be like the rest of your kind? Just use her to get your kingdom, take your pleasures, and then leave her to rot?"_

_Sebastian's swift right cross, a blur in the low light, bit into him hard. The unexpected blow knocked Carver over his abandoned chair and smashed it into kindling and splinters. Blood trickled from the split lip, but he deserved it._

_The Grey Warden smiled._

_"You will not cheapen your sister's sacrifices in my presence," the prince demanded, anger subsiding by measured degrees. "I would not have asked for her hand unless I truly did not care for her and may the Maker strike down any man who would say otherwise or else I shall put an arrow between his eyes."_

_Sebastian held out his hand and hauled Carver back to his feet. The two stood there for a moment, forearms grasped. It would be the last time they would have the luxury of being civil._

_"Take good care of my sister,_ brother. _She needs this."_

_He nodded, known well the wounds that plagued her soul._

_"Will you stay?"_

_With a heavy sigh, the Warden shook his head and wiped a little more of the spittle and blood on the back of his gauntlet._

_"Tell her I'm sorry... for everything," the Warden said before he reached into a pocket beneath the mail tunic. "And, could you give her this in the morning?"_

_In outstretched hand, Carver held a sheathed long knife. The leather wrappings of the hilt were worn but oiled, the same of the sheath. As the young warrior brandished the blade, he fastened it with a covetous gleam, the blade glinting with evidence of great care._

_"Our father gave me this, but I want her to have it. I can't be there to protect her, but I can't think that there is a better man to take my place than you, my brother."_

_Although the endearment grated in his ears, he grinned as he tossed the knife towards Sebastian._

_"You know, I think he would have liked you. Consider this his blessing."_

_It was a rare compliment, a profound thing to come from Carver. Nevertheless, Fenris and Sebastian watched him go without protest. Alone again, each man retreated into company of his own thoughts while an oblivious hound snored, basking in the warmth of the fire._

_"If you'll have nothing more of me, Sebastian, I shall see to my duties," Fenris said after a few minutes, taking up his Sword of Mercy._

_"Wait." Sebastian stopped him, a look of curiosity on his tanned features. "If I recall, you wanted me to answer a question."_

_"It has already been answered. Nothing more need be said."_


	4. A Blessing Heard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A song of sadness, a broken soul. Seek a new path...

_Sing unto me, love  
The wonders of your sorrow  
Heed my loving plea_

The walls bathed in darkness, the fire naught but embers, Sebastian Vael assured himself that night still reigned. Alone in bed with the heavy covers drawn over him, the prince felt abandoned. He missed her warmth, the comfort of her by his side. Three days' growth of beard scratched his palm as he ran a hand over his face to rub away the remnants of sleep. He threw a weary arm over his eyes and he recalled their night of mutual pleasure. In silence, he began to wonder what he may have done wrong to drive her away once more, her absence upon waking unexpected.  
On the early summer air it drifted, his ears twitched to a new sound.

 _"... My Maker, know my heart_  
Take from me a life of sorrow  
Lift me from a world of pain  
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride - "

To hear the Chant from that voice, the former brother's heart quivered. Maria Hawke sang to the wind from suffering, from joy. All her heart she wove into it.

 _"My Creator, judge me whole:_  
Find me well within Your grace  
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed  
Tell me I have sung to Your approval - "

Oh, to kiss the lips which made such a beautiful sound, he mused. 

Yet, punctured by a quiet sob, it came to an abrupt end.

Sebastian cast off the blankets and found Maria with her hands clasped before her. Through the open window, starlight painted the world into monotone shades. A sympathetic hand strayed into her messy locks, still knotted. The prince sat beside her on the floor and waited for her to speak, averse to press. Beyond the stillness, he could hear Maria's Mabari, Thane, as he snored just outside the great wooden door.

"I was praying," she said, reluctant to look at him as her shaking hands fell to her sides. "I thought that if I sang, He might listen."

"The Maker always hears the prayers of the faithful." He meant to calm her trouble mind, curious as to what might have brought this change upon her. Sebastian reached up to stroke her cheek, to comfort whatever troubled her heart with his once reserved affections - he would not let her wallow in the gloom of her own despair when he held any power to remedy it. She kissed his hand before she enfolded it between her palms and clasped it to her heart. They remained in silence and minutes melted away before she confided in him.

"I wish I had your faith," she said, the words mumbled as her head tilted to rest on his shoulder. "I wish I had that same unabated trust in Him as you do and the same faith you seem to have in me."  
He brushed a kiss to her brow before he shifted to gather her up in his embrace.

"The Maker guided me into your arms - I would not be here if not through Faith. But I can't help to think that something else troubles you. Do you regret what we did?"

"Never," she answered, fidgeting while she tried to find some sense of peace within the tempest of her thoughts. "Tonight, I was myself, unmasked - I can't thank you enough. It's just... I'm sorry."  
"Don't be, Maria." A red-brown brow quirked up. "Please, tell me – what’s wrong?"

It was the last thing she wanted to share with him, the clandestine and sordid fears. Yet, his insistence, his caring demeanour, tore at her and she acquiesced. Each breath rattled as she strove to compose herself.

"It reminds me that I regret spending my whole life pretending to be strong as if I was another. I’m just so tired, Sebastian. That person, I so longed to cut her out completely – she’s inhuman, hollow and empty. Yet she lingers, full of vacant smiles and lies. She’s the Champion, defined by the desires of the people, chosen to fulfill their fantasies. You once looked on her choices with some measure of contempt and I can’t but feel her underneath my skin, tempting you. I fear it was she who beguiled you. I said things, did things - all because I wanted you to accept what I believed was for the best or what I thought you really wanted. I hate what I've done. I hate it even though I know I just wanted to be there for you, whatever the cost. It makes me sick that I've been unable to face my past and now here I am, wanting to atone. But, I'm afraid. Afraid that I'll make a mistake. That as I put back the pieces, I'll fall apart again. I'm not strong anymore, Sebastian. I don't think I can be what you need most."

The prince was certain his groan came from disbelief. All this time, she was haunted by regret for wanting to be loved and for convincing him of something he himself should have realized. He gave up a life in the Chantry for her and his kingdom with the Maker's blessing, for a duty he had once abandoned in indecisiveness. That had been his sole decision, a choice not entirely painted by her influence. It had been the right choice, for her and his people.

Was she so frightened of her own mind that she believed that she could not be cherished? So terrified that she lived her life as two people, protecting herself from the world while giving in to its wishes?

"Must we go through this again? If I recall, you said no one can tell a prince what to do, or who to do it with. Can I not make up my own heart in this matter? The Maker willed this, not chance. Helpful or direct, charming or diplomatic - all of these make you who are. Reminding me that I am but a man is nothing to be ashamed of and despite it all, I will have you. Think nothing more of your other self and I shall tear away the Champion's mask if only you’d smile for me, my love. Let me make you into the woman you were meant to be. Let me be the strength to hold you together. Allow me to be your champion as you were mine."

Sebastian promised her much. Gathering her up in his arms, he carried her to their bed. Settled amongst the scattered pillows and haphazard coverlet, he leaned to kiss her once more in reparation.  
It would take time, but he would reshape her as his own.

"Now, sweetling, be silent."

Later, cloth sticking to his skin, Sebastian kicked at the blankets, oppressed by their weight and warmth. In the early hours, he and his betrothed exchanged pleasures again to leave them damp with sweat but too weary to shift. He revelled in memories of keening cries. He showed her things that would make the more devout sisters of the Chantry faint with shock, shared deviant talents and received them in return by his tutelage. Again, he had tested his resolve and proved triumphant - it had been an affair of individual satisfaction, the same as before, not a coupling of flesh.

 _"This is becoming quite the challenge,"_ he muttered into the darkness. Intoxicated by it all, he gripped her hair and drowned the mage in another playfully brutal kiss. Musing of the night when he would consummate their blessed marriage, these little trysts would be naught but fond memories.

His own wayward thoughts gave him pause: if Elthina had not refused to accept him back into the Chantry, his rashly spoken vows would now lay in smoking ruins. May the Maker forgive him. Treading so close to his desire, the urge to claim it burned hot in his blood. It took little to incite his wild imagination: the sight of her filled with him in complete surrender tempted, her tender thighs holding him tight and pulling him deeper, her nails raking down his spine. Cheeks high with colour, her gasping moans drove him. The sensation of her tongue scorched him with excitement –

Glass shattered. Quick reflexes protected his bride. Steel bit into now empty mattress, Maria thrown clear of the wild swing. Straightening, the assassin made a mad dash for another attempt to aim for the prince. Caught in the twisted blankets, she could not move to defend him. She watched, stricken, as Sebastian wrestled and traded blows with the death-dealer, limited to his bare hands with no weapon of his own at hand. Strength alone could not give him the advantage as a man well-versed long-ranged tactics and weak in the way of the sword. Fearful, the desperate mage tried to call upon her power, but it refused to answer.

"Sebastian!"

Pale-blue light stung her eyes, a halo of silvery-white speeding past her. The sickening crunch of vertebrae and the thunderous howl of her Mabari pierced the daze. Haste caused her to thrash and twist her ankle, but Captain Briggs was swift to her rescue and to help her hobble over to his prince, giving the man the comfort of her attentions.

"Are you both all right?" Fenris asked, wiping at a spray of blood staining his armour.

"I'm fine." Sebastian called out in comfort for their comrade’s conscience though he grunted with effort as he rolled his shoulder. Bruised but not dislocated, the archer noted. Shame flashed across his mind, knowing that he should have been more prepared. His gaze hardened at the sight of his bride staring at him with worry sketched on her red-tinged countenance. Her touch consumed him to assess the damage regardless of his reassurance even while her Mabari nudged at her in the same concerned manner.

 

"Maria?"

"I am unhurt," she assured her friend, a strained but polite smile on her face. Apprehension and disappointment welled within her once she glanced at bloody blur on the floor. "Barely a day and it's already begun."

"It seems another player has entered the fray," said the elven warrior when he fixed the prince with a knowing look. "You must work quickly if you mean to outlive your own rebellion."

The Mabari let out an indignant woof of its own and licked at his owner's arm like a nursemaid would pet a snivelling child. Nearby, Captain Briggs surveyed the scene, careful to detail the course of the incident. However, his steel-gray eyes strayed to the two lovers on the floor. He smirked. Amidst it all, no one said a word about the half-naked prince and the shapely woman in her smallclothes.

* * *

"Is something wrong, Fenris?" Maria asked. The vacant expression on the warrior's face must have given her pause, cautious where she leaned on his arm. When they reached the table, he saw her seated as comfortable as possible, vigilant not to aggravate her injury even as Thane curled at her feet. At her summons, the elf took the chair next to her. Stiff in the act, he felt unusual in these surroundings, incompatible. She gestured for him to share in their repast but she herself did not partake.

"You treat me as family." The reply came with the inflection of unwarranted suspicion, his gaze transfixed on her. "I apologise. I did not mean to seem without gratitude, but I cannot understand it."  
He felt like an unlearned child, all the while inadvertently ignorant of the world and mocked for his deficiency. Yet, a breath of gentle, kind-hearted laughter alleviated his tension.

"You are a _friend_ , Fenris. Anything less would be reprehensible." In her mind, the argument was sound and she attempted to give him some reconciliation "You're no longer a slave. This is a path of your own choosing. Giving you no less than the respect you deserved would cripple me."

Fenris let out a deep, resonant sound. "So serious, Maria. You shall make a rather interesting princess."

The casual remark sent a streak of crimson to mar her cheeks. It sounded bizarre, unfathomable. She never wanted to hold that title, only the man who shared its rank. Even so, she clung to it, praying that it was right, but in her heart, the truth proved greater – a mage would never wear it.

"Indeed, she will." Sebastian broke through her thoughts when he joined them, fresh from yet another meeting with Srath Karin's elders. Captain Briggs and a few of his men trailed behind their charge, keen in their role of acting personal guard. Dressed again in his armour, now neatly polished and buffed free of its blemishes, the prince shone bright in the late morning sun.

"You tease me. I'm not meant for such a title. Being at your side will be enough," she muttered, the haughtiness in her tone softened by her worry. Her frown returned when she touched his cheek, the unhealed cut from the encounter with Flemeth illuminated by sunlight. "My love, you do too much."

"It'll never be enough and there's more to be done. I’ll not hide in waiting while the usurpers destroy decades of peace. Kirkwall may lie in chaos, but in our hands, Starkhaven cannot fail. It is our duty to prevent that same dissent, to remedy the corruption bred into those with power. No, I will take back what is rightfully _mine_."

"As it should be, Your Highness." The timbre of Captain Briggs rang with power and assurance. Alongside him, the soldiers in attendance stood tall and each beamed, prideful warriors al. At his words, every one of them exuded a profound loyalty for their returned prince.

"I leave one rebellion to begin another," Fenris added a sarcastic groan to the din from his place where he leaned against a wooden column. "Fantastic."

"It's necessary, serah." Briggs argued back, the full brunt of his fury apparent at he glowered at the bodyguard of his prince's bride. "With the fall of Kirkwall, much of our trade has diminished and many other states have closed their borders. Too many of our people are suffering, falling to poverty and famine. Apart from them, the nobles begin to squabble over land and titles, spurred by the fight for the throne, and the poor suffer even more. Our monarch’s a pawn in some greater scheme and we’re on the brink of civil war. Six generations of peace have turned to ashes. Without a true ruler, we will collapse. Now that His Highness has returned, and with the Champion no less, we can save our people."

"She’s no longer the Champion of Kirkwall, Captain," Sebastian rejoined, throwing the weight of his blood’s authority into his words. "She has done more than enough for Starkhaven by standing here and she will do as she pleases, not because I asked."

"Surely, Sire, you can't mean to -" The captain readied to dispute, but the intensity of the prince's command subdued him. Nonetheless, Mathieu Briggs, loyal servant of Starkhaven, wanted to fight back and rely on his experience and rage. Instead, he took his pleas elsewhere. "Six years, milady. For six years, we've been without our prince. I beg of you, tell me you'll help take back Starkhaven."  
Maria's veil of stoicism presented the Third Company captain with no immediate answer.

Would she watch them crumble? Would she let another city fall?

"Do you know what I am?" she inquired at last, her tone level and devoid anything betraying her emotions. A mask shielded her, but this one was different by far, tinged with acceptance of things she cannot change. "Even without magic, would your people even accept me?"

Although it did not hide in her voice, Sebastian felt her fear as if it was his own. It tasted bitter, an itch that could not be soothed. The people of Starkhaven and its subsidiaries shared the common view taken by most of Thedas, each overcautious of those possessing the Gift. With Maria as his wife, he condemned his line to the looming threat of magic for generations and the scorn of the Chantry. The thought had never occurred to him until that moment. Expecting to be appalled by it, he found himself suprised of a vast absence of alarm - it seemed natural, right. Perhaps together they could alter the relationship of the Circle and the Chantry, between the mages and the templars, so none might endure as the inevitable fate. Perhaps they could avoid another fall like that of Kirkwall.  
But that was another issue, not the one at hand.

 _"Magic exists to serve man,"_ quoted the captain, his grey eyes ablaze. "A mage in the service of her prince, of her husband is no threat to her country, is she not? True, we've heard the rumours, the lies. But we've also heard of generosity, your kindness. I've met men who weave tales of your beauty and your strength, men who fight against those who proffer slander of your darker side. How can healing wounds or freeing slaves be the plot of a demon? Milady, there's no other woman we could wish for as our princess."

The collected soldiers all rose up their voices in agreement.

"You are all mad," exclaimed Fenris as he shook his snowy head, the off-handed comment nearly too bold for the circumstance. "Then again, I've never met a mage with Maria's willpower. Watched carefully, who better, indeed?"

* * *

While her betrothed and the Third Company made preparations for their departure into more hostile territory, Fenris allowed himself to be drawn away by an insistent, albeit a bit wobbly, Maria. With her Mabari close on her heels, the Tevinter-born elf studied her with a guarded eye, bewildered by the shadowy cast to her face.

"They're wrong to put so much faith in me," she said, her palms pressed hard to the door of her bedchamber after she closed it behind her. Turned on her heel, Maria reached for the warrior’s gauntleted hand and placed over her heart, its beat like dancing drums and troublesome beneath the metal and fabric. "Fenris, you once placed your life in my hands, but I must test that reliance. You must promise me that should I ever fall prey to demons or, the Maker forbid, turn to blood magic, should I fail Sebastian or his people, you are to kill me. Rip out my heart or rend me asunder, but I would rather die than be a cause of more destruction. All of you deserve better that that."

No wavering, no hesitation. Nothing but poignant and an irrefutable truth. In those watery eyes, Fenris could not see the Champion, the mask. Sebastian's true lady stared back at him, full of love and concern bred among resilience. She understood the gruesome risks of her nature and sought to manage them with the welcome intimidation of the only definite solution. A wise choice, he reflected; no magister of the Imperium would dare ask the same of him.

Perhaps in another life, it might have been him who comforted her broken soul, kissed away her tears. Fate denied him those dreams and after many years, he accepted the path she walked. However petty his envy, Sebastian proved himself to be a good man, one slated in Fenris's mind to become a willingly devoted mate. Now, at the prince's insistence, Fenris took a new role in Maria's life and found compassionate approval there. For lack of anything else, he was truly content.

"Consider it done."


	5. A Blessing Spoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises and desire, the truth of need... NSFW

_Sing again, sweet one_  
Whispers beyond rolling mists  
Dance amid the light.

"Will you do it?"

"Why wouldn't I? I owe her this much."

"I suppose it's not a matter of will but rather can you do it." A wary glance spared no mercy towards his elven companion. Now was not the time for doubt, for faltering, but he had to know for her sake. Even without the full spectrum of her power, no one could be completely safe. "This isn't exactly something that just anyone can do."

Fenris shrugged his shoulders, a small sigh escaping his lips. He tugged at the cuff of the black Ghillie shirt he wore, feeling more out of place than usual. As a guest, he was expected to attend the festivities, to join in the merriment. Unfortunately, the weight of his new newly-taken responsibility gnawed at him.

"If nothing else, I can learn." Fenris sighed with the truth, his memories like bitter ashes on his tongue. "Think on it, Sebastian. Why would Danarius design these filthy things if not for some twisted purpose? Why not create a templar that did not risk the addiction as most but rather incorporated the lyrium as a part of himself and forgo the usual dependency? One never needing to feed the power? Even if I may go mad in the end, I could have protected him from his opposition, drained and thrown down his enemies without care, a templar not governed by the Chantry and sworn to only single master. I need only to find someone to school me in their talents before this time slips by."

"You've seen how corrupt they've become and yet you still respect them," the prince returned, his mouth twisted into a grimace. A vision of his lover's scar leapt before his sight as well as the bodies of innocent mages littering the Gallows during the final conflict.

The elf fixed him in burning glare, but the anger was fleeting.

"It's good enough for her. That alone fuels the need to protect us from her magic should fall to a darker path. She may be no magister, but she understands the risks." 'Twas a grave despite his loyalty. “You, on the other hand, are only changing the subject. I thought this was tradition for your people, an honour."

Projecting his distaste on his lover's bodyguard had earned him no further admiration. Fenris knew better than to accept this from that man. It was his duty to Hawke.

Boot-steps ceased to pound and Sebastian's focus shifted to the wreath of ivy laid upon the desk, the thick vines overlapping and twisting among the shiny dark leaves. His brothers had each worn one themselves, each a more than willing participant in the coveted role. How he had envied them in those days, enthralled by their wild tales of debauchery. However, on this day, he dreaded it, its taste trying. Even now he questioned such pagan rituals, allowed by the Chantry and kept by the people for the promise of reunion and the blossoming of new life.

Yet, for his people, he could pretend, if only just for one night.

Maker, help him.

A part of the prince fought the urge to shatter the mirror before him where a strange man in belted-plaid and loose cambric Ghillie frowned back at him. Slipping the ivy crown atop his head, he waited for the creeping sun to set. His courage gathered, he prayed that he would not shame his name for the sake of pride and the wishes of his people.

* * *

Fragrant wood smoke, roasting meats and chattering voices wafted through the grand window and taunted her from below the sill. All those bodies moved in the periphery of her conscious awareness, an unwelcome distraction. The laughter, the press of flesh made her flinch with anticipation. Maria Hawke sighed, forlorn with the imminent reminder of social interaction.

"Sing it again, pwease?"

The little ones ringed around her cried for more.

Maria shifted in the flowing silk and lace gown, the luminous garment hanging off her shoulders in an artful cascade. It clung to her curves and the layered bottom floated about her ankles, its designed quickly altered to fit her shape once the decision had been made – still a bit long, but otherwise passable. In the mirror, she did not recognize the ethereal spirit who reflected back. How was she to judge? The mage shrugged while Orana continued to brush her rather long hair, grown overmuch in the passing month. The little elven maid smiled at her mistress, ever content in her task as she wove little braids into Maria's hair. At her elbow, Mistress Beckett and her eldest granddaughter knotted the last few pieces of honeysuckle in a wreath, the blossomed branches' perfume permeating the room.

Undeterred, Mistress Beckett's two other grandchildren begged to Hawke sing _Starkhaven Fair_ for them once again as the others worked. From her place at Maria's feet, the middle child accompanied her on a tiny harp, her little fingers deft and delicate with every note. Beaming from his place in her lap, the youngest curled up in her arms, careful to keep his hands to himself and not interrupt the servant's work.

The sheer commonness of the scene made her heart swell with sorrow, only able to pretend as long as she could hide behind the guise of a simple noblewoman. More lies to tell herself, she thought. More pretending. Everything she did now was for Sebastian's sake. She was safe as long as they never learned the truth.

"Milady, might I have word?"

Maria turned to meet the good Captain's gaze, her sight somewhat improved since her encounter with the Witch of the Wilds as she found him steadfast but somehow content where he awaited her attention. The captain stood in the entryway, stiff and proper although less formal in his own belted-plaid. In contrast, his short crop of ebony hair remained untamed. A scruff of rakish stubble lined his jaw, cut by the thin scar that ran from beneath one edge near his ear to slice diagonally up across his cheek towards his right eye - Maria learned from Sebastian that Mathieu was a decorated swordsman of note who earned his rank through prowess and loyal service.

Why would he want to speak with her?

With a wave of her hand, Orana finished her embellishments and Mistress Beckett took her leave alongside the maidservant and her reluctant grandchildren, leaving the completed wreath on the table top. The youngest glared at the captain, sticking his tongue at the poor man for interrupting him as his grandmother dragged him away.

Now alone, Maria tried to muster a smile for the well-meaning captain, but her heart fell short of the strength. She rose to stand in greeting for him only for her injured ankle to give way. Pain shot through her and she fell beneath her own weight.

The captain's calloused grasp caught her before she collapsed fully. His warm smile, his scar twitched up along his cheek, dissolved some of the hurt, both to body and pride. Depositing Maria back onto her chair, he knelt at her feet and withdrew a small pot from his sleeve. The pungent scent of elfroot and other herbs spilled into the humid air when he pried off the lid. Maria swallowed an indignant cry when his hand slipped beneath the hem of her gown and pushed up the silken fabric up her leg, his rough fingers grazing tender skin.

"My sister sends me gifts from time to time." His words meant to distract her while he rubbed the cool salve onto the bruised joint, but the pain tainted their purpose. In minutes, nonetheless, numbness overtook inflammation, slowly rendering into a dull ache beneath the poultice's matte swath. Briggs helped her back to her feet where she could test the extent of the poultice's healing. "Does this help?"  
"Indeed, serah. My thanks," she said in gratitude. Her pain at last tempered, she gave him the little smile she failed to manage earlier.

Letting out a hearty laugh, Briggs redirected her appreciation. "Your thanks should be for my sister - she's always fiddling with flowers and potions. If I may be so bold, I'm sure she would envy you this freedom of yours - she's lived in the Circle for most of her life. I'm surprised she manages as much for me as she does."

He volunteered no more, hurt worn in his expression. Understanding too well the fear of loss many felt in the wake of those born to magic, she did not press him further.

"I must say, dear lady, you _do_ look beautiful." A meagre offering, his comment a little off-handed, it sufficed as he moved to stand at her side. Regret flashed across his face once he caught sight of her blush. Again, she did not press him and instead chose to whet her other piqued curiosity rather than chide him for misspent flattery.

"Would you tell me of this Siren?" she asked him while her hands trembled beneath the sweeping fabric of her gown's loose sleeves. "I can't see why I should be asked to participate in this - I'm not one of your people."

The captain's grimace morphed into a smirk, a wicked glint in his steel-gray eyes.

"I must admit, it was first at my request." Briggs confessed without pause, allowing a deep chuckle to match his mirth. "If you would pardon our prying ears, my men and I heard you sing the Chant the other night and could think of no one else. Though, I'm sure the Elders agreed in light of gaining favour with the Prince. Aye, forgive me. In all fairness, it’s meant to expose you to the public in a reverent eye, for without their approval, at the very least, you may find your days difficult in Starkhaven."

Her crestfallen shift did not go unnoticed with the truth that the act was another ploy. If the people could not suffer her presence, even without the reality of her magic, she would lose all hope. It was a necessity for them to see her in a different light other than harbinger of devastation that many saw in those of her kind, now more than ever in the wake of Kirkwall's destruction. For the sake of the throne, she resigned herself to whatever they asked of her and turned to greet it with a new mask. She sighed – there was no sense in fighting against fate.

"As flattered as I am, what is the legend?"

Her ruse worked, the query yet another diversion for the cordial captain and for herself.

"Aye, 'tis an interesting tale. Other villages use one such tale or another for their Summerday celebrations, but this one is more widely known. I'm no bard, but here's the story my mother used to sing to me: There once was a man of great prowess..."

The romanticised fable told of a great knight, an epitome of skill and strength. Against insurmountable odds, he defied his cruel and heartless lord. Fearing the knight's power, even as a single man, the lord gathered many mercenaries to face the lone warrior to crush his rebellious cause. Even knowing that he would surely die beneath the force set against him, the knight vowed to fight until his last breath. Before the eve of combat, the first night of summer, an eerie mist blanketed the forest of the morn's battlefield. From the swirling fog, a voice, both beautiful and frightening, haunted the knight's fitful dreams. Woken from his bed, an otherworldly woman, faerie lights twinkling about her, stood before him amidst the trees. He was smitten by her sight and her song. Submitting to the siren's call, he abandoned his sword, his purpose, and was spirited away.

"... The Knight was never found, but verily, the Siren had saved his life," Briggs said, his tale finished.

"I thought the tales revered sirens to be far from benevolent creatures. For that matter, many of their lovers were never seen again. 'Tis but wild fantasy." The last bit she muttered, more to herself than the captain.

"I don't understand it."

"Many a man would rather die in the arms of a beautiful woman such as yourself rather than on the blood-soaked battlefield. One night in a siren's arms would unmake many a man," he offered with a smile. "Milady, will you sing for us?"

Silence settled between the soldier and the mage. Questions rose and fell in the space, never spoken. Briggs chanced a studious glance and caught the tension wear away from his prince's lover, a strange sort of calm wrapping tight. Her eyes opened to reveal the mask, one of sad acceptance worn over a false smile. The captain was certain the true Siren sat before him, wearing the former Champion's skin, her melancholy voice haunting the mists. Changed, her tone rang soft and sweet, like flowered honey, as she said his name.

Aye, his men had chosen their Siren well.

"I shall be honoured, Mathieu. But who, pray tell, is this Knight?"

"That," he said with a small laugh," is something I can't tell you."

Even if denied, he would have felt his heart leapt in his chest, the thought of her voice drifting through the mists that rolled down into the valley threatening to undo him. Screwing his courage, the captain took up the crown of honeysuckle and placed it upon the mage's head, naming her the Siren of Summerday. Pride overwhelmed him thanks to the tribute for such an old tradition.

"Mistress Beckett can teach you the songs 'til I return," he said as another knowing smile spread across his roguish features. "Oh, and milady? I made the boys promise to keep quiet about other _things_ we might've heard. Don't you fret."

On a happy air, the captain left the baffled woman to her blush and afterwards buried his thoughts beneath his duties until the sun set behind the hills and the mists came. The memory of the blood which flared to her countenance amused him as he worked, directing patrols and canvassing the growing crowds of merrymakers.

Sometime later, he laughed aloud and earned himself a number of peculiar stares, but he could not help himself. For as long as the tradition held, many nobles and families of note used the festival as a match-making affair: it is expected for the Knight and the Siren to spend the night in one another's embrace.

Perhaps his Prince would ensure his line that very night…

* * *

Mathieu Briggs touched an assuring palm to the forearm hooked in his as he led the Siren from her chambers. The blindfold of her role pressed to her guarded eyes. Bare feet scraped on the time-worn cobbles, the silken gown whipping about her legs, as they stepped out into the crowed thoroughfare. With each step, anxiety cloyed on her tongue and the insistent weight of the honeysuckle wreath crushed her.

Every human voice hushed when they reached the edge of the square, open to the plain beyond and the platform constructed there beneath the grand willow tree. The noise of hurried passing heralded the crowd to part, the rustling of cloth and the creaking of leather prominent in the growing stillness. Even from the doorstep of the inn, acrid smoke curled in her nose. The roar of a grand bonfire on the bank blazed so hot she could feel the sweltering heat mixed with the warmth of those around her. Beyond the village, the nameless tributary of the Minanter added its chorus to the night sounds. Taking every ounce of her strength, she gathered it all into a single entity to keep herself standing while the very presence of all those around her ravaged her senses. One did not need magic to feel the power of their unseen stares.

"Are you ready?" the captain whispered, the brogue heavy and low.

His quiet words sounded like a minstrel's horn in her ear over the clamour of her heartbeat. The Siren gritted her teeth and nodded, sucking in a deep, struggling breath. A silent wish echoed in her mind for her prince to be at her side, but it was too late now.

Then Captain cleared his throat and sent up the clarion call: "Behold, the Siren of Summerday appears from the mists. Where is her Knight?"

It rolled through the parted sea of Srath Karin's peasantry and the soldiers of the Third Company where the proclamation echoed into the night. A moment of disparagement caused her stomach to knot: would the Knight deny her honour? She was certain that the whole truth had not been made privy to her; for all she knew, she was unworthy of such a role.

An answering cry drew her from her reservations, a distant shade that she could not match to any face.

"Here waits the Summer Knight! Come, Siren, and lay thy claim!"

Released from her escort's hold, her shaky steps wavered on the cobblestones. Steadying her breaths, the Siren straightened and focused on the snapping flames. The captain's brogue shot back the benediction.  
"The Siren seeks to stay fate's hand and find one worthy of her bower. Let us hear the call that stirs the hearts of the brave!"

The piper's deep, hollow sound hummed thick in the night. The fiddler drew his bow across vibrating strings to add its cry. Somewhere, the crystal tinkling of bells joined the unearthly sound, sparse in its accordance. Over them, a moment too late, she willed her voice to rise and weave through the bated silence, a flute fluttering in her wake. No one seemed to give care a the music turned to match her, the notes stretch to repair the broken flow. Bolder, her cautious steps lead her forward. Cobbles became pebbled dirt and dirt became grass and sand with every stride.

More voices added their rumble to her song, vocalized alongside the clear, eerie sound of her own. It undulated through them, one and all, pulled from something deeper than reverence. Her song continued, the cresting warbling and trilling hung in the crisp summer evening. One of the minstrels then took up the drum and another, the lute. Each brought the barely remembered lyrics from her lips while someone guided her up the few short steps onto the platform at the end of her journey. As she began to sing the last verse, her tongue tripping but every so lightly, the masses gathered in revelry fell quiet, spellbound.

All were silent save for the bonfire's crackle and the Siren's haunting invitation.

The Siren's role demanding, she raised her trembling hand and she nearly faltered at his touch. The large, warm palm met hers and led her in into the spiral, each facing away from one another as they performed the dance of their roles. Their hands held high, the Summer Knight wrapped an arm about her waist, lifted her onto his hip and off her feet as her voice still carried the Siren's call. He spun on his heel, slowly in time with rise and fall of her lines, and held her to him with the lightest touch, her gown fanning out around her legs. The music filled her spirit as did his gentleness.

The Knight placed her back upon her feet, his fingers intertwined with hers as they raised their hands again. Faster, the Knight and Siren turned toward their match and each revolution brought them nearer, his nose almost touching hers.

The Knight's hand snaked around her again, tugged her onto his hip and then swept her from her feet once more. This time, however, the Siren pulled him closer and her hand rose to caress his heated cheek as her arm curled around his neck. She did not need even her damaged sight to know his touch, for only that man's touch could set her weary soul afire.

The people of the humbled masses threw up their voices. As the minstrels drove the final bars, the song built to a moving close. The Siren brushed her lips to that of her Knight and basked in their yield. Her whisper words scintillated against the parted flesh: _I love you_. A smirk curved against her mouth solidified the truth of her confession to the one for whom it was meant.

The Siren's call wound towards an end and bards took up another song, the drummer made to mark the Siren's new cadence. The Siren of Summerday wriggled in her Knight's grasp as he ripped the covering from his own eyes before tearing the cloth from hers. Darkened blue met glittering honeyed amber in the firelight.

A powerful drumbeat built in the night and the captain's high baritone carried over the din, but only just.

"The Siren has chosen well! Behold great people, your Summer Knight, His Highness, Prince Sebastian Vael and your Siren of Summerday and his betrothed, the Lady Maria Amell."

The drumming and the piper's quivering shrill, punctuated by the harpist's plucking, drew a cheer from the people as they threw themselves to pounding dance. Following their lead, fiddlers' bows flew in action.

Possessed by a manic grin, the prince gathered his lover in his arms and leapt from the dais. For any other man, the height would have been dizzying, but he landed with astonishing grace. Steadied, Sebastian dropped Maria to her feet, took her hand and led her into the fray, freed from duty and caught up in the wild ebb and flow. Together, they wove and darted through the gyrating revellers to become one with the people. Bare feet and light, leather boots jumped, lifted, stomped and twisted to the ascending beat as the fiddlers' strings screamed their piece. Left one hand and taken another, they traded enthusiastic partners again and again, all equal in this night. Brother and sister, father and mother. Farmer and merchant, peasant and soldier. No hand was left untouched, not one distinguished from the other or scorned. Faster and faster, the drummers berated the taut skins of their bodhrans and kettle drums, the tippers and hands flying across the surface.

Some tremendous climax reached, Fenris found her amidst the throng. He tore her from whoever held her hand, and threw her into Sebastian's awaiting arms. The prince clasped her tight, arms wrapped securely around her middle. He swung her around with his lips pressed to hers in an undeniable and public display of elation and greed.

And then the dance ended, abrupt and staggering, to leave them all breathless and panting.

Hoots and hollers, clapping and whistling - these filled the air over the bonfire's roar. Hands darted out to touch their garments for luck as the Knight and Siren worked their way to the head table, their place of honour where they were to reign over the throng.

Sebastian, his own breath heavy, snatched up his goblet and raised it to the people, to the people of his father, of his grandfather, of those who came before him. A possessive arm enveloped the former Champion, crushed her to him as a valiant claim. Maria dare not move, a pang of fear still clutching at her breast.

"My people!" Little a warrior cry, the prince began. They heeded him, his mere voice ushering them into silence once more. "I stand with this woman before you now as only a man. Not as your prince for I have yet to earn that title. You have suffered and toiled beneath one who tarnishes the memory of my family, our heritage. But, I say to you: no more! Let him shake on his ill-begotten throne. Let those unworthy who would take his place cower in fear. Will you stand with us? If you will have me, I will deny these usurpers and take back what was lost!"

The cacophony which followed shook the dais and their souls. As one, the Third Company guardsmen each fell to a knee and bowed before their true prince. Hearts stirred, the people of Srath Karin and guests from neighbouring villages knelt alongside them to pledge their loyalty, a ripple of movement that radiated through the crowd. Sebastian beamed at them and his grip tightened.

"Milady, if I may?" the captain said. He addressed the Siren, the unknown mage amongst them, as he held out a folded length of royal tartan, an appropriate gift from him and his men. "'Tis fitting for our prince's betrothed to wear the colours of her new house."

Receiving an indebted nod of consent from his prince, the captain smiled when Sebastian released his betrothed into his care. Her visage burned scarlet, Maria allowed Mathieu to fix the revered sash over her shoulder and pin it about her waist. His task done, Mathieu took her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. Although they both knew gesture was a token one, the impact remained for the acceptance of the people for one not their own.

The captain sunk to his knee before his monarch, his head bowed and shouted up into the night: "Hail to Sebastian Vael, the rightful ruler of Starkhaven!"

"Hail! Hail! Hail!"

The deafening chant echoed into the balmy summer night and spirits soared. Now the rebellion had begun.

* * *

From the high table, Sebastian surveyed his people with a compassionate eye. The festival goers wound their way to the plethora of trestle tables lining the cordoned plain, the entire space alive with garlands of flowers, strung pole to pole, and dotted with perfumed torches. Men in various tartans of belted-plaid and women dressed in their finest gowns milled barefooted about the trampled grass. Naught but blissful gaiety, they ate and drank themselves into contented stupors, all blessed that night. Laughter and merriment heaped the gratification of those gathered. All of it brought a smile to the prince's tired face.

However, something more pressing gnawed at his mind.

"Tell me, love. How did you know that it was I who played the role of the Summer Knight?"

Puzzlement worked its way over his features, one of bewilderment and hurt as auburn brows knitted deep. Had the Knight been anyone else, would she have still played her part? He himself had expected another in the Siren's place and vowed to refuse the woman's advances. After all, it was expected of him to share the Siren's bed.

"No other's touch feels as yours, Sebastian," she said, her tone serious yet quiet. "Yet, I knew the moment I drew near. Maker's blessing, I don't know what I would have done had you not been waiting there for me."

She choked back her candid fears; she had been ignorant enough for one night. The Maker had blessed her, calmed her trepidation with what little of her magic that remained. Even with Flemeth's curse, for whatever reason, Maria still retained her sensory perception of life, felt each living thing as it radiated its own unique signature when she laid her hand upon it. Although she could not touch her own, Sebastian's blazed like the sun, warm and bright. She bathed herself in its glow, comforted. Had another awaited her, she was certain she would have broken down and failed the people who had expected so much.  
"Let us talk no more of it, then," Sebastian suggested, his curiosity sated. In the safety of his own mind, he rejected his wild imagination, visions of his bride lying with another man, her role's duty performed because it was expected, burned him. Unlike them, however, he was indeed selfish and pressed a hard kiss to his lover's lips.

"Did you like it?" His lover murmured into his shoulder, steering him away from petty jealousy. He suppressed a hearty chuckle and squeezed her tighter - since reaching their place of honour, he had refused to let her go.

"Our holy Andraste could not have sung better." He praised her work before he kissed her hair, the smell of honeysuckle tickling his nose.

"That's rather close to blasphemy, Sebastian." Try as she might, she could not scold him as she tittered, a light thing as she nestled closer. A lazy thumb slid across the short whiskers on his chin. "Everything seems so different now, and 'tis not just the kilt."

She chuckled again and mused for a moment of the stories Varric had spun about the people of Starkhaven, of their culture and dress - some more alluring than others - and her eyes darkened with desire.

"On the contrary, I believe it is you that has changed," he whispered, the breath of his voice hot on her skin and the smell of wine on his breath. Something was different indeed, hinted deep in that thickening lust-filled brogue.

Flushed scarlet, her mind began to wander until Sebastian's mouth brushed his lips down the edge of her ear before his teeth scraped her throat. Heedless of where they sat at the forefront of the festivities, he kissed and sucked the spot below the lobe to make her twitch. From his mouth, heat dripped down her quivering body, down from her chest and belly to pool between her thighs. Her stomach fluttered and her breasts strained beneath her gown. Air trapped itself in her lungs and she struggled to breathe.  
"Have I mentioned that you look quite ravishing this evening?"

How they managed to slip away, she did not know. The only coherent thought that rang in her mind was the hope that Sebastian's haste would not lead to the ruin of Mistress Beckett's handiwork - the gown was rather lovely after all, even altered for her sake.

Once hidden away from inquisitive eyes, Sebastian groaned as she tore away from him once they entered with chambers, leaving him to close the shutters of their windows.

"Trust me, it's for the best."

She returned to his embrace where her quick fingers unwrapped him from the belted-plaid while he tugged the lacings that bound her dress. They wasted no time to fall onto the bed, naked as newborn lambs save for the crowns of ivy and honeysuckle. There, all the walls crumbled. Sebastian took her face in his hands as she loomed over him. Her heart threatened leap out of her chest the moment he spoke. Although a slightly drunken slur tainted his impassioned words, she had no trouble understanding every one of them.

"I love you, my Lady Maria Hawke. No other woman inspires me with the strength to find my place again in this world after what we lost. I see now that I cannot ever thank you enough. The Maker truly blessed me that day when you accepted my post on the Chanter's Board, as foolish and misguided as my intentions were. And though I might wish that we had met under better circumstances, but I would not wish for any other woman to walk this path by my side."

Tears blurred her vision only to be wiped away by a man so desperate for her love, for her acceptance. He wanted her without remorse, without regret, the wine aside. He had made peace with himself, with the misgivings and the doubt. Their families taken from them, they could make a life together, make their own and it filled them with joy. For his admission, she upheld her own vow - whatever he asked of her, her whole being was his if only to hear him say those words. He was her joy, the light in her darkness, saved by his passion for righteousness.

The time for words passed and action paved their course. She covered him in wanton kisses, traced his shape as he had once hers. Shapely thighs gripped his waist, her barely balanced weight a pleasant distraction. Maria soon found herself eager for his satisfaction and she marked him in much the same manner as before, returning often to his mouth to taste him there again and again. Her tongue outlined the corded muscle of his neck and his chest. Feather-light fingertips scraped down his sides to draw out the restrained passion within him. Her touch warmed him like holy fire, wondrous and enlightening. Whether beholden to the role of the Siren or simply out of her mind, the prince could have cared less until those wicked, magic-kissed fingers wrapped around his hardened length.

"Not yet." His warning rumbled out like a beast's growl, harsh and needy. He meant to assure her pleasure before his own - it was only fair. Greater strength aided him and he overpowered the mage relative ease where he buried her into the soft mattress beneath his bulk.

Akin to a man possessed, Sebastian nipped hard at her throat, opposite of that hated scar, to mark her for prosperity and his pride. His tongue trailed from the purpling bruise to the tip of one breast and marvelled in the beautiful voice that gave him a sighing whimper as he suckled at the hardened peak. His neatly-trimmed beard tickled the space between its mate and left a glistening trail of saliva to share his attention. Maria's fingers threaded into his hair to cradle his head to her heaving bosom yet he only wanted more.

"Sebastian -" His name a breathy prayer, she whined at the slippery tongue painting patterns on her belly. His hands slid up her thighs. One shifted to comb through the curls at her apex, tortuously teasing across her need until an enterprising finger hunted heat. Her hips bucked into him and he licked his lips, mouth curved into a smirk before he moved further down. One arm hooked around one trembling thigh while his right hand caressed and held the other leg before he kissed along the hot skin towards his goal. "Sebastian, don't you dare!"

It amused him at first, her sudden bravado. Even so, he ignored her wishes. Her keening cry crashed over him, his tongue suckling the swollen pearl once before it speared into the wet heat which made her writhe with pleasure. Had it not been for his foresight, she would have crushed him when she began to thrash. Paired with his talented fingers, each meticulous in their worship, her shuddering climax sought to undo him. It proved too much. Fanned by that welcome release, a heady passion won and the prince took leave of reason. Sebastian felt empowered, intoxicated by more than wine. He shot up from between still shaking legs and pinned the woman beneath him so that the head of his desire might seek its torrid sheath. A mere inch of him was all the madness allowed before his senses reawakened, the haze of lust pierced by his lover's sudden whimper. Frozen mid-thrust, he panicked. It hurt to look into her eyes, the half-lidded gaze both glazed and terrified. Shock gripped him to find her more than willing as her hips rose to meet his. No, his mind screamed. Heavy hands sped to end the farce and drive her back. He had promised to give her no less than a prince; regardless of that oath, he stole that advantage, if even for but a moment, before earning the right in his own eyes.

"I'm sorry." He panted in the darkness, his bottom lip caught between his teeth until a familiar copper tang filled his mouth. The Maker forgive him. "I'm so sorry. I- I can't."

He edged away, legs swung over the side of their bed. There, he hunched over, cloaked himself in disbelief and disdain. That hate burned down his spine and his nails dug into his palms. Not so deep enough into his cups to fall victim to baser whims, how could he have lost control like that?

The equilibrium of the mattress shifted behind him. Her movements slow but deliberate, his lover's naked form pressed to his back, kisses peppering the tanned, drooping shoulder. Not lingering, she slipped from atop the bed. On her haunches, she sat on the floor where she could rest her head on his knee. Another kiss planted itself on the warm skin of the joint, a tender touch of concern. After a time, she shifted again, her small palms slick on his thighs. Leaning forward, a small kiss ghosted across the tip his aching member, her tongue flickering out to taste him.

 _"Stop it!"_ Sebastian hissed like some great, wounded beast and grabbed the long tresses, her crown of honeysuckle caught in the tangled strands, to pull her from him. She gasped in pain, but it had been worth it for he would not let her debase herself for his folly.

"Look at me, Sebastian."

Her strained voice urged her broken prince, his fury stayed but his grip loosen her knotted braids. When he refused to respond, she rose again to her knees and gentle fingers tore his gaze from the dim fire in the hearth to stare into hers. The waiting wore itself as another veil, her features sad and lonely, until her hand drifted from his chin and the other took up his to lay it against soft skin of her abdomen.

"I made this choice, whatever you may think, and I need it. Even as a mage without magic, I can't offer you much of anything lest I bring more trouble for you. But I can give you this when I have nothing else. My body is yours to command, my love. Please, if not for yourself, then for Starkhaven. For your family. Let me give you an heir to strengthen your claim to the throne."

So many things went unsaid: how long could they wait? Was he ready?

Sebastian swallowed hard, the feeling of her flesh beneath his hand seeking to rekindle the flame he had just extinguished. He imagined what it would be like to throw the woman back among the pillows and fill her to completion, to watch her grow heavy with his seed. Hunger crept back into his veins and threatened possession once more. Yes, they were far from young, he himself some twenty-eight years and she not much less. Even as shallow lines marred her countenance, her body beginning to follow the path all women must go down, she always remained beautiful in his eyes. No one could deny the wrinkles which carved ravines into his own face and that his strength would begin to fade. No, age would not deter them.

Guilt stole him next when the political benefits reared to taunt him. His teeth clenched, envisioning the security she would warrant as the mother of his child. Oh, the influence he could lord over the Chantry and the nobles, prideful and scrupulous. Swollen with their prince's heir, he relished the notion of forcing them into casting aside their denial of his bond to a mage - he would have her with or without their consent, magic or no. Yet, it burned him through and through to consider using her like a brood mare even as it teased him with prospect of a blood-tie strong enough overpower his distant cousin's pitifully weak claim.  
The Maker forgive him, he could not entertain such appalling thoughts any longer. The more he allowed himself to think like a man corrupted by power, the more his head reeled – he refused to become another viper in the nest of politics. Every part of him proved unwilling to abuse the pure love she felt for him while she asked nothing in return. No, it was more than that - she clung to the hope of adoration, of purpose, even knowing that she might be rejected. Sebastian could not bear the thought of having her only to lose her - he could not fail her or Starkhaven. For all their sakes, he would give them a strong leader, but first he must her strong again, heal the open wounds of her soul and present her with a greater purpose than simply pleasing him. Their old lives were gone, snuffed out like the Chantry's candles, and with it, news ones lay before them. Without her strength, her confidence, she would only bring him down and he could not to allow that – she may have given up on herself, but he again refused to accept defeat. He needed the Champion and she was that no longer.

 _So be it,_ Sebastian thought with a heavy sigh. _Even if I must earn her wrath, I will make her into a champion once again. My Champion. When the time comes, we will be ready for our cause is righteous - Starkhaven needs us both._

"Although reason and logic demands such of us, I refuse to ruin this lovely night with arguments. You're not ready for this nor am I for that matter. I vowed not to use you for my gain, at least in this - you mean more to me than that. Now, I've had enough of broken promises," he said while he drew her into his lap. Although he appeared collected, his gruff brogue betrayed him - the mere contemplation of that he could even consider demeaning her angered him still. "I'm sorry, but this is how it must be."

Maria shook her head, solemn whilst her lover stroked her cheek.

"So be it," she agreed, her shattered heart sinking into the depths of her broken soul. "This will just have to be enough."

His lips sought hers as he proffered apology, needing to appease the hurt. He hated himself for having to ask for her forgiveness in injuring her pride; though his duty to Starkhaven came first, he still knew his role as a righteous man who meant to be her husband.

All the same, she accepted it with loving arms - she would forgive him for the world. Her sombre kiss reminded him that he was only a man, but he was hers as long she desired and it warmed his own heart. Even if he tried chase away the sadness which lingered, he knew that it would never be enough. Nevertheless, though otherwise fallen into silence, she propositioned a remedy for another sore.

"My love, at least allow me one pittance on your behalf."

Sebastian flushed to remember the throbbing hardness beneath the woman in his arms. Reluctant in that still, she coaxed him to allow her enough freedom to satisfy his neglected need. Where words failed, actions offered relief. Together with her loving hands, they brought him absolution after she pushed him back down onto the bed to forget themselves once more. Bathed in the heat of adulation, they relinquished the chains and gave into a measure of their passion while they traded tender kisses and teasing caresses, intent to drive away the guilt they each felt in the darkness. Each pretended to be content with the arrangement and lost themselves in the one pleasure they permitted.

Sated, he later watched her climb out of the bed, the sway of her hips enthralling in the half-light. He felt culpable, ashamed when she washed herself of him before she returned to join him beneath the covers. Her gentle kiss assured that she had chosen to forgive him, despite his resolve. It however did little to placate his disdain.

"I love you, Sebastian." She squeezed the possessive but penitent hand which draped over his waist to cover her belly.

As sleep evaded him into the early hours of morning, Sebastian tried to convince himself that he had made the right decision.

 

"I love you, whatever the cost," he whispered into her hair and held the slumbering mage's form tighter as if one slip would tear her from him for all time. Duty might cause him to lose her in the end, but he chose to take pleasure in whatever time the Maker would give them without fear.

* * *

_Leathery wings snapped shut, clawed feet shifting into iron-shod boots. The smug beast's passing went unnoticed by the dwindling festivities below, ignorant in their bliss. White locks twisted in the gentle breeze, the mists curling around the tied strands._

_"Well, well, what do we have here?"_

_Golden light shimmered and dissolved to reveal another, youthful were the other was weathered, clad in white and gold as she stood in silence on the dew-soaked hilltop._

_"Have you not done enough already?" she said, a tinge of anger etched on her features. Dark-lit eyes narrowed at the witch's arrival."Your deed is done - why not take your leave?"_

_The creature of legend and power offered the holy woman no immediate response. Instead, she merely gazed down at the merrymakers littering the valley. A smirk played at the corners of the old one's mouth, secrets hidden in its bow. How fun this game had become!_

_"You know, my dear, I was there that night - He seemed to be enjoying Himself," the Witch of the Wilds muttered, her grin broadened. "I would have taken that vessel for my own pleasure if He had not."  
Magic crackled at the younger woman's fingertips, light arching with her disdain._

_"Oh, come now. Don't be so childish. Look what came of it," the witch said, "His gift was a remarkable one, was it not?"_

_"And now you've tainted it," she spat, the words vile in her mouth._

_"You know me, my dear. I couldn't resist, but you know as well as I what it is to come – it had to be done."_

_"And you forget that she is not yours to toy with. Unlike you, I would not choose to poison the soul and weaken the will - you need not have caused her such pain."_

_"I promise that this is all the meddling your lord Husband allows me," Flemeth assured as she shrugged feather shoulders. "But, let us be frank, my dear: it doesn't matter when, does it? You'll have your moment. This will last until the conduit is needed. Unless you want her to burn, that is."_

_Laughter poured into the flames which engulfed the Witch of the Wilds and the great dragon rose back into the clear sky. Higher and higher, it vanished amid the lightening darkness. Alone once more, the Bride of the Maker shook her head, her tears still wet upon her cheek. Time passed in slow turning, hours slipping by until the horizon grew pink with the rising sun._

_"I am so sorry, dear ones, but I cannot alter the path of fate when we have seen too much. Please watch over these poor souls, my Love."_


	6. A Past Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembered mistakes, the misdeeds of his past...

_Nothing ever cries  
when the past seeks rising suns.  
'Tis a day for change._

_Skin blisters, blackening. Hurt echoes in singed ears as the body writhes against the bonds. Fire wreathes the Fade, stretching as far as the eyes may see._  
He raises the sword - his features shifting from unfamiliar face to that of her lover, to Fenris and then to Anders, to Orsino, warping from one man's face to another. Her eyes slide close, expecting the sharp sting of steel and welcoming death - death is the only release.

_Engulfed in glowing, pure white radiance, sapphire orbs twinkle amidst the brilliance._

_Then all rages and the fires consume..._

* * *

"- 'Ria?"

Blunt nails tore into Sebastian’s arm and he bit his tongue, his blood staining his lover's scrambling, burning fingers. Sweat-drenched and feverish flesh squirmed in his embrace. Clutching her close, he held Maria until the trembling subsided. Gentle fingers wiped the tears streaked down her cheeks, her skin hot beneath the pads. Low whispers drained away the startling fear running rampant in her mind. Words gave her some sense of reassurance. His feathery kisses melted away the fear, pressed to her eyelids and temples. A strong hand strayed into her hair while the other held her in possessive claim, awaiting calm. Still, she turned fro m him, slipping back onto the bed. One arm hung over the bed to grab the edge of the blanket, the fabric taut to the breaking point in her grip. Persistent fear held her deep within its grasp even as Sebastian rubbed circles into the taut muscles of her back.

"Say something. Anything," she whimpered through gritted teeth, desperate for the comfort of his touch and his voice.

The prince pulled her back into the safety of his arms and threaded calloused fingers back into her tangled locks, knotted in the honeysuckle wreath still caught on her head.

"Tell me about your past." A request rather than a demand, she kissed the palm cupping her face, still shaken.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded from where she settled into the crook of his shoulder, the tension beginning to fade. A lingering thought of whether or not she would regret such a query flitted away, replaced by curiosity and the need of his words, of physical contact.

"As you wish.” Staring up at the crossbeams and thatch, it was his turn to give his lover a glimpse of his lament.

"I said before that I was jealous of my brothers -" 

Sebastian stroked Maria's arm for consolation, reluctance masked by Sebastian a heavy breath as he recounted the memories of the family he had lost so long ago, longer than he cared to recall...

* * *

_Lucas and Markham, his parents' pride. Accomplished warriors, tough and confident. Silver-tongued and catching of the eye, both shared the pleasure of a Siren's bower, each Summer Knights, chose with respect of their station. He watched his father and mother coo and fawn over them. By the time he reached fifteen years, they matched his elder brothers well. Yet he found himself left alone, friendless save for his loving grandfather._

_Jonathan Vael, his grandfather - no greater man in this world could he imagine, a strong man wasted away by sickness. Before his last breath, Jonathan gave him a fount of hope, a beacon of reprieve for one destined for a lesser role. The former Prince gave him reason and purpose, only to have it taken it from him for noble greed - his promised servitude to the Chantry, first begun at the age of thirteen.  
Yes, he had been a gift from his parents to solidify their continued relationship with the religious power. Even if it was tradition for his line, he could not help but resent it._

Sebastian cringed each time he realised that terrible truth.

_Sent to Kirkwall for his affirmation, he railed and lamented the change. Even Filled with despair and wrath, Grand Cleric Elthina pitied him from afar and left him to the more lax of the sisters. When the homesickness became too much and her concern for his welfare, she proposed remedy. Thus, half the year he spent in Kirkwall and the other found him in Starkhaven.  
It was the time spent in Starkhaven that he cherished most._

_Removed from the palace to the Kirkwall and Starkhaven chantries for three years, the bond between him and his grandfather remained strong, the distance of their positions forgotten. At every opportunity, the elder Vael visited him whilst he learned to copy manuscripts and sing the Chant during his stays in Starkhaven in the autumns and winters. They walked down the streets, smiled as red and gold leaves crunched beneath their boots. When the night grew too cold, they reminisced by the fire where words expressed only comfort and truth. Yet, his heart ached still, even in his grandfather's company – in all those years, he was never once invited back to palace._

_That peace, too, met its end._

_The news of Jonathan's death heralded the first change in him, a young man of sixteen fighting to escape the Chantry and an unwanted life. Distraught and reckless, he took to drinking to ease deep pain, that unbearable loss. When drunken stupor proved insufficient, eighteen years into his life, he sought companionship among the whores and buried himself in their false amour. As he drowned himself in drink and women, his name drew black gazes - his unsavoury hobbies painted him with an impish mask, no matter which city held him._

"I sometimes found myself in Zazikel's Craw before my stints in the dungeons..." The memory tasted bitter, disgusted him even as a small hand slipped into his own shaking palm. A false chuckle bubbled up from his chest, thankful for her forgiveness but undeserving. 

_Unlike the guardsmen Kirkwall, wary of his family's name, his parents expressed no fear in punishing their wayward child when he stirred the peace within Starkhaven's walls._

_Zazikel's Craw, the macabre appellation bestowed in remembrance of the Archdemon slain in the city during the Second Blight, stretched for miles under the hills of Starkhaven's domain. The cavern system wormed through basalt into granite, quartz and more shot through the rough-hewn walls. Plumes of sulphurous smog hung high among the pitted stalactites, tainting both air and soul. Even the strongest became frail amidst the cloying fog, too weak to stand as they collapsed alongside the steam-drenched stalagmites for their pillows. A few days spent down in these simple cells and the fight left the most rowdiest and violent of men. Those warranting such gladly sunk against the heavy iron bars that sectioned broken caves into makeshift blocs, their will sapped after the weight of the deeper caverns._

_It was there he that found himself on the rare occasion, subject to his parents' contempt when their patience waned thin. Coughing among thieves, ruffians, and other roguish men, he gained intriguing skills and talents in exchange for petty coin when they were returned to the Wall. After a day or two in the Craw, the guardsmen dragged their near-unconscious forms into the main dungeons housed in the high city walls that encircle the lowest tier of the city._

_Royal Guard Captain Leland, one of his father's and grandfather's most trusted of their personal guard, shook his head at Sebastian’s hung-over, debased presence as he stares out onto the plains that sloped from the city through the high, barred windows of the outer wall, still unrecovered from his brief stays in the Craw. Tired of tossing the manic young man into such a fetid and distasteful environ, the captain often took pity on him and gave him liberty earlier than his humiliated parents would have liked. After a while, thanks to his new talents, Captain Leland stopped fighting against the tide. In surrender, Leland took to taking a blind eye while Sebastian picked the complicated locks and allowed him to take his leave whenever he pleased – no bars remained to hold him with deft fingers and a rogue’s unique talents at hand._

_Within short time, he earned his parents now unwarranted attentions. His promised pledge to the chantry grew in appeal, the ideal remedy for their problems. Except instead of leaving him at the mercy of their own city, they chose to convey him to the chantry in Kirkwall. A faraway prison in his eyes - no more did his former title of **son** hold any sway. _

_At the age of nineteen, the sanctuary of Starkhaven's hallowed walls became lost to him just as the palace had been when he first was thrust into the Chantry’s shackles. Alan and Meghan Vael exiled their youngest son to the priesthood for politics and punishment with the hope that they had rid themselves of a troublesome child. When the time came, his parents sent him in the care of Captain Leland for his safety and their assurance. Under the Captain’s guard he stayed until he was settled in Kirkwall, cast into permanence with the promise of no return. The deed alone took more time than anticipated and the aged captain did not leave without remorse. Too many times as he balked against his lot, Leland conferred him over to the City Guard to cool his heels in another dungeon, an endless cycle not yet broken._

_To the captain's surprise, the tune changed after his last attempt to escape._

_A year later, Captain Leland left him to serve beneath the Grand Cleric's watchful eye. The man paused only once to wish her luck before the Captain returned to Starkhaven, confident in the outcome. Enfolded into the ranks of the Chantry, those last few years helped him learn the value of patience and humility as well as the motherly affections of a woman not of his blood. There, he discovered some semblance of peace among the brothers and sisters of the faith..._

* * *

"I hadn't been there much longer than a year, after I decided to stay by choice, before you arrived." His voice was hoarse and low, not by sleep or exhaustion. No matter how much he loved his grandfather, his family was also gone, along with their disapproval and their love - talking of them stung, but not as much as other sins.

What burned him were his actions, the mindless pleasures taken for granted. A soul taste coated his mouth. A hard kiss to his betrothed's lips sought to apologise for his immeasurable indiscretions and yet, somewhere in his heart, Sebastian knew he may never atone for such madness.

To his surprise, calmer and cooler, she returned the bruising kiss with a soft one of her own. Maria understood. She used that pain to push away her own. Her legs wrapped about his waist and she kept him close, safe. Small fingers petted his bloodied arm and hoped her touch would soothe the wounds.

Tracing traced indolent patterns over his beloved's back, Sebastian thought back to those days. He imagined that he would still trade them all for the life given to him in that moment. The life of a brother may have offered him peace, a life free of hardship and decision, but not happiness and belonging, the chance for something more. In those gentle arms, the missing pieces fell into place, even in the face of a daunting task. The past reminded him of his intent to make her strong once again and he latched onto it with all his power, for both their sakes.

They lay together enclosed in the other's embrace for some time, content in the stillness. Silence reigned in those long minutes. The early morning darkness offered no light through the tight shutters. Yet the occasional sounds of the last remaining revellers in the street below or the call of an owl or cricket slipped through the slats.

When the quiet became too much, Sebastian dove back into the fray - more wounds still wept.

"Maria?" 

He muttered her name, his lips grazing her cheek.

"Aye, Sebastian?" she said in return, her head nestled against his chest.

"Do you regret what happen that last night in Kirkwall?" he asked while a wandering hand stroked the length of her spine. Though remorse plagued him, the question needed to be asked.

Maria kept her silence for a time. Did she feel guilt? Of course. But what choice did she have? As a mage herself, she recognized that overwhelming fear, their innocence. Not all mages were willing to turn to blood magic and their deaths would have accomplished nothing. She herself was proof of that, her talents channelled into healing and force magicks. It was not entirely based on the insanity of Knight-Commander Meredith, the madness that threatened all under her rule. Anders's own instability could not have changed her mind, even as his blood stained her hands - her choice was never because of him.

"I did what was right," came her answer, unwavering.

_Fair enough._ His hold tightened, imagining more questions to keep her mind occupied, but his failure reared. Every piece of him wished he had taken the blade from her and ended the abomination's life himself, wished he had spared her that blood on her hands, but he could not change the past. Unlike him, she had yet to accept it. Healing took time – no one knew better than a man who spent six years learning a truth he denied, six years wasted in indecision. 

And he knew her well enough to see that something forlorn yet hovered at the forefront of her mind.

"There's more that troubles you, my love. Tell me."


	7. A Needed Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The regrets of a champion, the companions left behind...

_Speak only of this_  
Thy heart is for me and mine  
Ask not for thyself

Memories, dark and light, swam forth, sorrow mixed with wonderment. Everything altered its course in that last night. Lives were lost and paths chosen - nothing compared to that devastation. Clinging to the Starkhaven prince, she buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder, recalling the events that lead her here, the pain they both suffered...

* * *

_"Can't stay here."_

_"I know." Sebastian Vael agreed, though trying to hide the wince as he turned to offer her a soft smile. Dropping her hand, he stood in an effort to give her some more privacy. The movement alone was agonizing when he attempted to lift his arm and pain ripped down his side. His neglected wounds, hidden for her sake, then began to hinder his endeavours. Yet, his words could not wait and he strove to push past the pain, his evocative words infected by the strain. "Maria, there's something I must ask you. I-I know you've lost your mother, and although I abandoned you when you n-needed me most, would y-you - "_

_"Sebastian?"_

_He heard the worry vibrating in that soft voice. Still, the prince lied to the mage for the first time in their acquaintance. He plied her with the assurance that he was well even as he leaned against bedpost as drunkard would a wall. Damn Meredith's statues, that sideswipe must have damaged more than he first guessed. A testing hand pressed to his side and he imagined the bruises below. The tightly woven mail could only protect him from so much._

_"You're not fine." Maria broke through the crack in his mask when she stepped from the bath. Quick in that at least, Sebastian closed his eyes while she wrapped herself in a sheet, water splashed onto the floor in her haste. Wary of his presence, she threw on her robes unobserved, no other thought spared to dry herself. Her companion then stilled when he felt her gentle touch on his shoulder. He winced again, even the light pressure agonizing. "Please, Sebastian, let me help you."_

_"I told you - I'm f-fine." He growled at her through gritted teeth, too frustrated to succumb to sympathy. Tainted by his anger, he lashed out with his other arm. She stumbled, tripped over the rug and fell to the floor. Her eyes lit up, her kindness thrown back into her face._

_"Sebastian, you will let me see your wounds this instant." What little strength she had spent itself to hide the panic and dread in her voice. "Not just because you're not going to heal on your own, with the way you're walking, but because I hate to see you like this. Please don't make this any harder or..."_

_She bit back her words - she need not fuel another argument, to waste more time whilst his wounds bled._

_He observed her with bewilderment and veiled desire, mesmerised by the finery that clung to her wet form from where she glared up at him from the rug. Though silent in understanding, he showed his reluctance. But his wounds begged and he could not help but accepted the demand - maybe he had been a little out of line but the fire in his veins left him hot and bothered. Of all the times, he mused, why now? Was now the chance to speak truth and risk worse? No, he would wait... for now. If only to give her some peace, he would submit. With a brief nod, his frustration withdrew. He dropped all of his defences in its wake._

_She wobbled for a moment, but she managed to stand. He stared as she worked at his armour, the light plate falling to clatter on the floor, piece by piece. In his weakness, he poisoned himself with a lecherous glance toward the plunge of her half-wet garments and later fought the urge to shove her away again - he owed her more than that. Now that it matter - agony sunk it hooks deeper and Sebastian bit his lip against the hurt just as she tugged at his belt._

_A mess of emotion and pain, he would not make this easy for her himself, at least not willingly._

_His quiet whimpers gave pause every so often. Maria's small fingers worked the buckles of his leather and mail jerkin. Her heart raced when he muffled a screech as she helped him shrug out of it. The linen shirt beneath had to be cut, much to their displeasure._

_The Maker help her, his stubbornness would be the death of them._

_Her tone flat, she asked lie upon her untouched bed, its comfort almost too inviting for the task. Although he was slow to comply, shuffling along the edge, he did his best to follow her orders. Behind him, Maria frowned when she saw the monstrous swath of purple and black spanning from his spine towards the middle of his chest. Contusions ran from just beneath the armpit to above the hip, the greatest harm centred on his ribs. A serious injury, indeed._

_At the first tentative press of her fingers, an indignant cry ripped itself free and a hand locked on her wrist. The moment passed and his grip relaxed, each breath still shallow. Gentle fingers slipped into his palm to give him an anchor for the pain and he clasped it tight in an instant. The next touch brought Sebastian closer to breaking her fingers which made her shriek softly. His hand flew to her finery to fist in the damp fabric, no longer willing to waste her sympathy. Grinding his teeth, he arched up as if the shy away, eyes shut tight with his impulsive stretch of damaged musculature and cracked ribs.  
Time may heal all wounds, but time only lasted so long._

_Over him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration, Maria fought to pour all the magic she could into the man writhing on her bed. Little by little, she knitted bone and mended muscle. Magic guided her as she closed her eyes and flooded him with magic – each person’s energy knew its flow, its perfect construction. Her energies melded with Sebastian’s, his body told her where the hurt began and ended, where the application of magic belonged._

_Through the intimacy of the contact and her magic, his hurt fought against her, draining her of will. Still fresh from battle, her exhaustion began to sap the last of her own strength. Even so, the emotion wrought by the divide between them and her desire to serve countered that despair. Still, that alone would not give her the strength to do what was need. Her mind emptied of all thought, Maria drew on more and more mana. She strained what little remain, but a great price - all of the pain visited itself upon him, all that he would have had to suffer had she left him to heal, albeit improperly, on his own._

_Sebastian continued to thrash, causing more misery that was necessary. How could she get him to stop? Without thought, Maria hauled herself atop him and straddled his middle. From there, she impressed upon him that he needed to be still - he would only make matters worse. Her legs squeezed his waist where the light press of her thighs only quickened the beat of his heart and the anger and pain mixed with lust only to drown in more suffering. It was all too much and he could take no more as unconsciousness took root._

_Maria could not have been more grateful._

_“I’m sorry, Sebastian.”_

_Whether by luck or something more, she did not intend to waste the precious time._

_Free to complete her task, Maria focused on the healing. Hours drifted by, midnight passed unnoticed. She collapsed afterwards like a child next to the sleeping rogue, his heartbeat stable and his wounds healed. In the haze of her due fatigue, she studied her work even as she admired the man swallowed by the darkness and longing took hold._

_“Maker forgive me.”_

_A brave hand brushed the disheveled forelock from his warm brow before her fingertips tangled in the auburn strands. She had forgotten how handsome he was, so different from herself. Born to power and then cast aside, but still noble and proud. Grown bolder, she risked a chance to stroke his cheek, leather-like and supple underneath her touch. In those peaceful moments, all she could hear was the soft rise and fall of his breaths and the beating of her own heart._

_Eyes widened and her breath hitched. Her wayward mind raced when she felt a sudden squirm of the man beneath her. His hips met hers and Maria twitched and reared, the slow grind of him pressed against her. Her own moan stifled, she whimpered at the sound of a small pleased groan that escaped his parted lips. Flushed crimson, she took note of the fever that lingered within him. At that instant, she felt the heat of his skin beneath the palms pressed to his chest._

_"For the love of - "_

_She breathed out her fear, frozen when a wandering palm ran up her back, unbidden and uncontrolled. Panicked, the mage flung herself from the bed only to crumple on the floor._

_**Too tired.** _

_Maria curled up on the cold stone tiles and fell asleep where she lay, lost to her fears and the Fade._

* * *

Sebastian blushed when he remembered his fever dreams, the weight of her bearing down on him, the sensuous blaze of her fingers on his flesh. His unconscious mind felt his skin blister in their wake until need and desire clouded his better judgement.

* * *

_A fleeting memory of feathery caresses accompanied the pounding in his head when Sebastian's eyes opened to a vague, yet somewhat familiar sight. Above, silken fabric hung from the towering bedpost to match the luxurious spread underneath. Alone atop the grand bed, he took account of his his surroundings with a keen eye in search of the one person to comfort him. He sat up and his spine cracked with the effort, but from that motion, he knew his wounds would trouble him no more. Not even a shadow of his injury marked the fresh skin - magic certainly worked wonders._

_His apologies and gratitude readied on his tongue, he called out to Maria._

_A groggy voice answered and her dark hair appeared above the bed's edge, tousled and limp. Maria rubbed at sleepy eyes as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress near her. Submissive, she turned away from him, guilty seeping into her beside the warmth of the fire, burned down to naught but embers. Sebastian sank to the floor and sat down beside her, legs drawn up with elbows rested on his knees. Wary, he said nothing for the moment before he selected his next words with care._

_"Thank you," he said as he reached over to take up her hand. A kiss pressed to its back, he held it close. It surprised even him when a part of him relished in the fit her hand within his..._

_Only a little smile for his appreciation did she manage but nothing else. Her head drifted to his shoulder, quiet until her breathing steadied among a growing calm. Together they sat in silence, each still bleary-eyed in the early morning hours._

_"Here, let me see if the healing worked as it should," she pleaded to break the stillness, her dark eyes wide. Told to return to the bed, he followed her without complaint unlike before. Even when she spoke, she refused to meet his gaze. For both their sakes, he did not deny her domain as a healer._

_While she worked in quiet focus, he mustered the last dregs of his strength - there was another matter at hand, an intention gone astray in the wake of need at last remembered. No time to waste, no time left to dally when a life was in question. Sebastian sucked in a deep, filling breath and exhaled, tension leaving him as he prepared again a fateful query._

_"Marry me."_

_Blunt but devoid of his true emotions, he did not waver. It have sounded like a demand, but as she stammered, he bolstered its sincerity: **would she even accept his proposal?** His need for it unquestionable, he knew he could not live with her._

_"P-pardon m-m-me?" When he reached for her hand, the mage reeled back from him as she would from fear. She pulled away from him and scrambled to the far end of the bed. **Why would he taunt her so?** Never had he answered her words of affection when even her own repartee had begun as a travesty._

_Hoisting himself up, Sebastian fixed her with a grave stare - he would not be denied; this was not a matter for indecision, for vacant promises._

_"I do not make this lightly." He shifted to assure her in composed desperation, not when everything rode on her answer. Strength taken from his resolve, his eyes narrowed to match her gaze. "My choice has been made for me - I've no home left here. Maybe this is the sign that I've been looking for, but only Starkhaven remains and my duty lies within its walls, with its people. As prince, I can offer you sanctuary should this... **debacle** ever be turned against you. Maria, I do not ask this of you for merely myself, but also for your own safety. We've both lost much, families and loved ones, to the madness and I cannot stand by and watch you suffer for that - that murderer's sins. You're all I have left... Maria, I **need you** at my side."_

_A thousand thoughts consumed Maria's mind. Her heart leapt at the prospect even as it quivered at the truth of the matter: if she wanted to survive the aftermath, a political marriage would provide some form of refuge against the masses. Though he might need her for more than love, her very life depended on that security, that iron-clad design. As a mage, an apostate, she could never truly be his wife, never hold her own in the tide of rule. For him, it was political suicide lest he could somehow convince both the people and the Chantry that she was no threat to them. Nonetheless, he promised her a life where she would hide, guarded for the mere protection of others. She imagined herself thrown in the corner, forgotten and walled from society, for the remainder of her miserable existence. A wretched life, indeed; yet, was it worth it if only to stay by his side?_

_There may be hope in the future he wanted to share, but she found it difficult to see._

_She flinched the moment his palm crept up to cup her chin, affectionate despite the weight on their shoulders. The prince tilted her reddened countenance towards him. His traced her jaw as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her gaze caught once more, he dropped his hand to intertwine with hers on the bedspread. A part of him swore he witnessed a flash of approval in those dark eyes, so desperate for her satisfaction as she stared at their interlocked fingers._

_"Please," he repeated, pleading with another squeezed her fingers. "I don't care about the consequences. I just want to see you safe. Please, Maria: say **yes**."_

_There were many more words left unsaid._

_It might be a lonely existence, but she would live, exist by his hand. Regardless of their rivalry, their differences, the Starkhaven prince once had submitted to her all those years ago to become a stronger man for the sake of himself and the good of his people. She now surrendered to him in the same manner as she kissed his brow. She only hoped she could heal before he needed her most._

_"Yes." Whispered in solemnity as her lips brushed his cheek, she refused to look back. "Whatever you ask of me, the answer is yes."_

* * *

"Even if I may have damned myself in the eyes of the world, had you said no, I –" Sebastian mumbled old worries into her hair, the despair lost. He kissed her temple instead and searched for the right words because duty now failed to justify his actions - would he be denied in the end? His arms tightened around her waist when the fear of losing her again renewed their grasp. Tipping her head, he drowned out that dark call with petal-soft lips beneath his. Her mouth parted at his insistence and greeted him with equal fervour. Her breasts shifted over his chest when she rose up from him, flushed when wide palms drifted down her thighs.

"The answer is always yes, my love." Maria gave him a sad, quiet smile; so full of hope and ardour. Her hands framed her lover's face to study the adoration, something she thought she would never see. Could they ever find happiness when all she brought was pain? The thought stung like ice, speared deep. Far behind them, she left so many behind to pick up the pieces of broken lives. Tears streaked down her ruddy cheeks and she dared to hide once more into the crook of his neck as the grief made purchase. "Did I make the right choice, Sebastian? Will they suffer for my sins?"

"If you worry for our companions, I shall assure you that your fears are misplaced," he pledged, as he threaded his fingers into her hair, her whole being held close as if someone would tear her away. "Do you miss them? I know our flight was made in secrecy and in haste, but I can understand if you feel somewhat responsible for them after all these years."

Each of their companions dominated her thoughts one by one, her role in their lives, for better or for worse, shining amidst the darkness...

_The greatest betrayal. Her ignorance of outside magic abused where Malcolm's prejudice against the Tevinter regime left her without knowledge, Anders exploited her kindness, her friendship. Even when she refused to help him any longer, suspicious of his actions, the abomination continued his reckless design, unseen and her concern unheeded. For his misguided campaign, they all suffered._

_There could have been compromises, of that she was certain. But in a single moment, all hope vanished._

At the simple thought of all that pain, she hugged Sebastian tighter as he ran a loving hand down her back to soothe distress's sting. He too lost much that day thanks to the madness. A mother, a home, a life - all taken in that moment of unimaginable devastation. Never again would she let him endure such misfortune for her mistakes. Buried in the hated memory, Maria forced herself to move forward, unable to change that fate. Surely there were good things affected by her life?

_Her brother's bright eyes danced like stars._

_Time and time again led to stranger places, their lives risked and more all for the sake of family. For years, Carver railed in the duty imparted to him by the father, the responsibilities of a warrior trained to shield the others. Given a higher purpose, he settled into the life of Grey Warden where he succeeded with surprising ease._

_Maybe now he could forgive her of their troubled past..._

_Aveline Vallen and Donnic Hendyr, the two kindred souls brought together with thanks to her own compassion, a payment for the warrior’s friendship. Poor Aveline, so desperate, yet admired. The whole affair progressed as a disaster, failure ever looming but never met. The ending outstripped the means - never did she see such a suited match or tender dynamic. Even now, she envied them, unable to accept the prospect of her own life mimicking such a path, not with the obstacles before them..._

_Merrill, excommunicated and fallen under a hard life. Without blood magic, Maria prayed she would seek a safer means of aiding her people's memory. Still, she feared for her - old habits like Merrill's died slow, stubborn deaths. She only hoped that her influence spared more than just the blood mage's life. She could not bear the thought of another mage run wild..._

_Without further provocation, Varric's voice echoed in her head, the nicknames and outrageous tales that added colour to their history. In some ways, she missed him more than most - who else could make her smile at her own innocent words tainted into vivid innuendo? As she imagined his reaction to her chosen path and her love, she paled at the bedlam the dwarf could visit upon them. Possessed by a sigh, she yearned for his silver-tongued comfort, his joking character in the light of darker days..._

_Last among their companions, Fenris and Isabela appeared together in her mind. Each spoiled in their own ways; however, together, they found some kind of comfort in one another's arms. Both spared terrible fates, she observed some form of contentment between them, if only for a brief moment from time to time. It never progressed more than the intimacy of flesh, so Fenris professed, when each drowned the other's fears in pleasure – their relationship a balance of lust rather than a true connection. Yet, like her, they were fugitives of circumstances._

That night as Sebastian took her from the city, the pirate and Tevinter warrior confronted them at the gates. Arms crossed and stern expressions marring their features, each proffered their own solutions, the truth of the Champion’s flight perceived.

_At odds with his lover, Fenris had ignored Isabela's protests before she made her own contribution. The warrior extended his services should they need him as cited respect and duty, the truth hidden. Free of his cruel master and alone in this world, his sister dead by his hands, the elf's heart burned with the debt he wished to repay._

_Thinking her idea better and caring nothing for Fenris's despair, Isabela offered them all a place on her ship, proffering her hand in friendship for their time of need. Yet, Sebastian declined with a polite air to receive a cold look from the Rivaini - he had other plans in mind._

_"Fine. Have it your way," she had said in a huff, her back turned on them with his dismissal made. "Just don't disappoint her - I spent too much effort tainting that girl’s mind and getting fit for your company; I'd hate to see it wasted."_

* * *

Maria blushed – she knew well the lengths Isabela devised to poison her mind but in the end, she drove her into the courage that she needed to seek her desire.

After the ordeal with the Harriman family, she recalled fleeing the Chantry, an unassuming request taken as suggestion. In a fit of shame and a slight drunken stupor, Isabela had learned of her secret adoration and reigned in joy at the prospect of meddling. Trapped into a bet at the rogue's behest, Maria questioned the prince's beliefs, tested his resolve only to once again find herself denied but not pushed away. For three more years, they maintained a courteous rapport, even when at odds, and had drifted closer with every encounter. The last time they spoke alone in Kirkwall’s Chantry, not days before their lives' collapse, she prepared to throw herself at his feet, the thought of abandonment and coming danger too much to fathom. Maria had relied on subtle insistence to shroud her fears when she learned of his decision to return to Starkhaven, unwilling to part from the man to whom she had grown so close. To her surprise, the uncertainties proved unfounded when he himself proposed a more formal alliance; however, it proved to be one they would never realize as intended.

It irked her still that without the Isabela’s persuasion, Maria might hold a different path rather the warm hand intertwined with hers.

"Ah, Isabela. That woman was something else." Sebastian gave over to his laughter as he pressed a playful kiss to Maria's matted hair. So similar in many things and so different in others, he still had to admire the Rivaini's tenacity and curiosity.

"You know," Maria said, a depressive sigh suppressed, "if not for Isabela, I don't think I would have ever had the courage to speak to you as I did, even teasing by accident. Even so, I should be sorry - at the time, I shouldn't have said those awful things."

"Not at all," he reassured and with a grin, pushed her down among the scattered pillows. He smiled wider when her hand curled against his cheek and his own drifted to cover steady her still-shaking fingers. A kiss left in her palm, he closed around the small span before he gathered it up and pressed it by her head onto the mussed coverlet. Bearing down her, Sebastian revealed his honest opinion of her naive meddling. "If I may, I rather enjoyed the attention after a time. I suppose I am to blame for many things - I truly have never met a woman like you. You, my love, reshaped the man I was into a man my grandfather would be proud of. Thanks to you, I can return to Starkhaven, confident to rule as he would have."

"You mock me." Maria countered his confession, frowning her thumb traced his jaw.

"Sweetling, I do not mock. Without you, I would have become nothing."

The smirk twitching at the corners of his lips consoled his lover enough to create a twin upon her own. Bent low, Sebastian made to revel in their entangled fates - only the Maker could design such twists of providence.

Then he froze at adamant sound of someone knocking, the tattoo urgent and worrying.

"Who could that be at this hour?"


	8. An Unwanted Blessing

_Whispered fear, longing_   
_The risk we cannot but grasp_   
_Want and need unbound_

"A moment!"

The incessant knocking persisted - there would be no hiding from it. Maria wrapped the sheet about her tighter and Starkhaven prince threw on a discarded pair of trews. It would not earn either of them any benefit to greet their visitor in their current state, Sebastian took note with a sleepy yawn. Still he wondered: who could it be at this hour? The festivities outside had dwindled down to the more boisterous revellers, too few some would considered fully conscious, let alone functional. That night, many a man would enjoy the prize won by his charms, the infectious call of the Siren within them all.

"All right. All right," Sebastian called. He cracked his neck left and right to ease the stiffness from their troubled sleep. The tightness unabated, the royal archer rolled his shoulders as he strode towards the door.

_Maker,_   _please let it be some wayward soul caught unawares - I have more pressing matters at hand._

Their bedchambers’ door thrown open, Sebastian revealed Fenris where the elf stood in the doorway, Maria's great mabari at his heel. A scowl marred the elf's stern features but Thane greeted the prince with a drooling grin and a lick to his hand before the hound padded his way into the room. Left behind in the corridor, Fenris held a nervous young lad at a distance, a clawed gauntlet dug into one of the boy's shoulders. The unfortunate child, no older than thirteen or fourteen years of age, wore an expression of fear and confusion, a thick leaf of parchment clutched to his chest as if his life depended on that tangible bit of reality. The boy's eyes darted about the room and fell upon the woman who rose from the bed, clad in naught but a sheet. A streak of red burned across his cheeks - it would seem he had earned more than he bargained for with such a gamble, burdened by an odd request.

"Deliver your message, boy. And be quick about it." Fenris barked the command with a growl before he shook his captive's shoulder.

At the warrior's words, a shaky hand extended the folded parchment toward the prince. Another blush crept across his face when Maria stood at her lover's side - her improvised garment left little to be imagined. For his own sake, the commoner's blue-gray gaze favoured a view of the floor in respect. The torn young lad watched the stalwart prince address the letter first, his face an expressionless mask. Arms tensed, the royal archer turned his attention back to the trembling messenger.

"Who gave this to you?"

The demand met with little resistance.

"Some pretty woman ‘n white up on the hill while I was on me way home," the boy explained, his stare fallen to the floor to avoid Sebastian's narrowed gaze. "She gave me coin an' told me to deliver it to this place, to a prince."

"I caught him slinking around in the alley like a common thief," said Fenris, his scowl deepened.

"Them guards wouldn't let me pass." The peasant boy argued his point, an indignant whine slipping free. Dread filled him as did resentment for his charge. He winced when steel bit again into his shoulder. "I got two sisters at home an' I needed the coin. Please, don't send me to the hangman, Yer Highness!"

Maria left the men for a moment to rummage in a half-open chest and returned with a small coin purse.

"Here, take this with our blessing." With the softest of smiles, the mage pressed the entirety of the leather purse into the boy's trembling hands. "Let him go, Fenris. He meant no harm."

Released from the warrior's grip, the messenger disappeared around the corner in a hurried panic, the pretty lady's gift clenched in his shaking fist. His heart berated his ribs and in his ears echoed the steps of his hole-filled boots as he ran. The other woman promised him that everything would be all right, that his errand would help the people, help his family. His mind wandered and brought with it images of a table heaped with bread, his family's farm a green paradise. He reeled with the memory of his father, forced into the army. In his mind’s eye, the work-worn man stood at the end of the path winding away from their shabby home, safe and sound, unscathed after so long from them. For one small favour, he clung to that glimmer of hope for Starkhaven, for a better life for all.

Summer's first breath upon him, the boy ran into yet sunless dawn, a sense of accomplishment rooted in his heart.

"So, what does it say?"

"You didn't read it, Fenris?" She blinked at him, her attempts to look over Sebastian's shoulder abandoned. The crestfallen look that swept across the elven warrior's firm features reminded her of the forgotten promise. "Oh, Fenris, I'm so sorry. With all that's happened... oh, I didn't even think - "

"Hawke, calm yourself. It's fine. I didn't expect things to remain as they were before this chaos."

His sad chuckle alleviated a minute portion of her guilt and she kissed his cheek in apology. With an incline of his head and reading lessons far from his thoughts, Fenris excused himself to join the other guardsmen. Their protection, the safety of his two closest companions, meant more to him than a kind offer to a former slave. The wood felt rough beneath his feet as the elf took his leave. In his heart, he knew each step brought him closer to realising his place in this world, a place of his own choosing and he smiled.

"You seem in a better mood, serah."

"You could say that." The cool night air danced through their hair while all around them the festival staggered on its last legs to where drunkards and lovers stumbled through the streets. Above them, the full moon's silvery haze shone past the wispy clouds, blown about by the pleasant breeze that swept through the valley. Fenris could not help but smile again. "A nice night, isn't it, Captain?"

"Aye, that it is."

 

* * *

 

 

Parchment crinkled in Maria's hand, her lower lip worried between her teeth. Anger. Confusion. Desperate longing spiralled with fear. Her fingers flexed and spasmed and the letter crumpled further. Despite the prospect, she did not want it and instead cast it away.

"By the Maker, what are you doing?!"

Sebastian gasped in terror as he watched the edges of the parchment catch light where it fell onto the coals. The edges charred black, flecked with smouldering red, settled in the heart of the fire. Leaping flames licked at the letter. Bathed in the red-orange glow, the words glared up him:  _Emotion and Sensation are Power. Use the Tear and seek Compassion. You have little time to spare._

"What have you done? That was a sign, Maria." Sebastian's fists clenched until his nails dug into his palms to the point of pain. He did not tell her of that the writing seemed to match that of his late grandfather's hand – that alone should have given him pause, but he knew this was a sign, a another sign from the Maker. It had to be. Andraste had given him the Tear, the blackened crystal which now dangled between his love's unbound breasts, hidden beneath the sheet tucked around her chest. Through Her grace, Maria survived her encounter with the Witch of the Wilds. It only made sense that She continued to watch them with a loving eye.

His heart stopped when he saw Maria's red-rimmed eyes, the barely contained hurt as tears glimmered on her wet cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words poured forth. She fell to the floor in a heap. Sprawled on the cold floorboards, she sobbed and collapsed in on herself like a burnout barn, its supports charred away. The sheet wrapped close billowed and settled about her in haphazard folds. Her hands fisted in the light linen, unable to hold herself upright. Panic and perplexity burned across Sebastian's sharp features and he dropped to his knees at her side. His lover up gathered in his embrace, he cradled only only to feel her fight him, trying to push him away. Her half-hearted blows, her fists pounding against his shoulders, meant naught without context. He could only hold her tight until the lashing weakened and came to a listless end. Lost, the sobs which had wracked stifled when she at last abandoned her struggles against him. Her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder to seek solace, some sense of peace in his embrace. His fingers slid through her knotted hair now free of its honeysuckled wreath, long since fallen from her head and crushed beneath her bare feet.

His words offered her little more comfort.

Until that calm, Sebastian closed his eyes and recreated the mask she had abandoned, the strong woman from Kirkwall. One instance, his mind recalled a woman full of kind smiles and helpful gestures. In another, he remembered their impassioned discussions, often at odds as she tried to show him reason when he was guided only by his faith.

He loved her - every broken piece. Every argument gave him purpose. Every smile gave him strength.

"Maria, please." His voice sounded hollow in his ears, a hoarse whisper over waning cries.

"I can't... I just can't."

Maria's sobs grew more sorrowful, renewed by some doubt or thought that plagued her. Within her breast, her heart sank deeper into the Void. Struggling, her words were muffled at first, but each utterance brought forth his frustration.

Maybe she was better off without her magic, she whimpered, her blunt nails tearing at her legs as she clutched at the sheet. Without it, she could give him a normal life, something she always wanted. Maybe the Chantry would be more open to their union if she was not tainted by her birth, their own children no longer at risk for the same fate. Never would she have to worry about the demons, their temptations forgotten and replaced by a normal woman's dreams - dreams of love and happiness, things far from her reality.

The prince grabbed her wrists and trapped them in his grasp. His breath steadied, Sebastian fought to maintain a level tone and his mind clear. It have been foolish to think that they had left this tension behind, this rivalry between their beliefs with regard to understanding, duty, and love

"I'll have you whether they approve or not for what have they done for me? My family lies dead at the word of murderers and they did nothing. Unlike them, the Maker never abandoned me. Now, you've questioned my beliefs at every turn. For once, have some faith. At the very least, in me. You've put your life in my hands as I once put mine in yours. In this, let me help you. Maria, I refuse to let you cast aside all that you are for something that may change this life we share."

The cryptic letter's words remembered, he knew they had little time. He wondered what much of it meant, but the urgency lingered. Whatever it was, they risked naught. If he could help her reach her magic, give her the strength she lost - who was he to reject that prospect?

"Please, Maria."

"Sebastian... I can't do it... I can't feel him or any of the others for that matter," she said after a moment as she rubbed at her tear-stained face.

"Feel who?"

The bewilderment was plain in his voice, confusion flickering in his soften blue eyes.

"Compassion."

Of course, how could he be so blind?Sebastian held his tongue until the memory reared to the forefront of his thoughts. One night, the truth unveiled, he demanded her reasoning - how could she be so willing to consort with the otherworldly entities of Fade, educated all her life in the risks to those born to magic? For hours, the candles long since burned down to nubs, Maria made him understand the difference between spirits and demons, the truth behind her affinity for healing magic. Unlike Justice, warped into a being of vengeance, Compassion held no power of her. Like her father before her, as long as it held her within an interested light, approved of her actions and pitied her lot, it offered her strength. It took little delight in worldly pleasures nor did it delight in pain. Yet it thrived on her nature: the empathy and sympathy infused at her core. Even that compassion spent towards Sebastian for love proved stronger than all.

Without that strength, she had nothing as she sought his approval, the assurance that this what he wanted.

"You're weak, Maria. What if this can only get worse? If this course is the only way, if this - this spirit can help you -" Sebastian's fingers flexed and then tightened, his hands clenched in his lap and his teeth gritted. It felt right to push her into action. "- Then so be it. But you must promise me this: do not make deals for that sake of power. If it cannot help you, then I shall concede to your judgement and we'll leave this endeavour behind us."

 

* * *

 

A bitter taste coated her mouth where the flavour of local herbs mingled with the metallic tang of lyrium. Maria sputtered and coughed - Maker, Bethany once compared it to drinking pond scum laced with steel filings. In a minute's span, she shuddered as the second vial droppws onto the coverlet when its contents hit her stomach. She could not stand had she tried, dizzy and nauseous. Sebastian kissed her temple before he tossed away the emptied vessels over the side of the bed. Only they remained behind with Fenris tucked by the fire, ready should something rise. Sebastian kept close, readied for the task at hand by the sheer force of will - even he fear what was to come. Unspoken, a part of him regretted the risk.

Maria's fingers clasped the charred gem of her lover's gift, his presence enough to maintain a sense of warmth and comfort. But he could not help her in this.

The trinket's leather bit into her throat as she pulled it taut, her grip tight. Her focus narrowed to the Tear pressed between her palms, her power and mind centred, she lay back, unable to even feel Sebastian's arm wrapped so lovingly around her. Within and without, the magic of Tevinter's secret relic tingled. It coursed through her veins and danced along her nerves. That small effort alone left her weary as she grasped at the magic locked away. Whatever Flemeth had done, it must have been far worse than she dared to believe for even something as simple as centring her mind left her drained, empty. The letter had been right - time worked against her. Every second, her strength faded further.

In that moment, she feared for her life and when the sleeping draught began to take its final hold, she offered up a silent plea - should she lose herself in this, she prayed that the Maker might take pity on the poor man who bestowed upon her such kindness.

And then it was done. She could not feel Sebastian's touch, the weight of the Tear against her skin, nor even hear the sluggish rush of her own breath. Gone from the realm of consciousness, she awakened in the Fade only to find pain...


	9. A Cursed Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my documents forever. My deepest apologies to those who do read this monstrosity.
> 
> To older readers - been on a rewriting spree... trying to make it more believable and enigmatic without sacrificing too much. New readers - I hope it's not too bad because I really didn't want to redo the whole; I'm too far into this to sit down and do a complete rewrite. All I hope for now is that it is a bit more balanced... and grammatically correct (I swear, sometimes I don't think I'm even conscious when I'm typing... bloody awful.) I'll be reposting chapters off and on.

_Naught but fear and loss  
Anguish only overwhelms  
Bloodied and broken_

Sebastian stroked an ashen cheek, Maria's eyes fluttering closed when the sleeping potion took its final hold. The barest hint of smile beamed down on her and those same long fingers tangled in dark strands to sweep away the stray bit of fringe from her brow. Fists unclenched as he continued to sing his lover to sleep, not knowing that she could not hear his voice.

Whatever the outcome, the blame would be his and his alone to bear.

At his behest, she took this course and entered the Fade to seek spirits. The request now brought him more worry and stress rather than hope. He shivered. Every Andrastian knew the story of the magisters and their hubris, that through them the Golden City became corrupted, their gift of magic abused. Dread began to devour. He convinced himself that the Fade was merely a world of spirits and demons. He begged for strength. He prayed that they did not trespass against the Maker, blinded by need. It could not be the same, could it? Still, he sent her there, beguiled and ignored another's fears in his desire for her to face them and seek that which had been taken but now unwanted. Thought feared, it defined her very being – who was she if not herself?

The prince held his mage tighter, needing her council for the unknown. All he could do was wait and pray as he cradled her head to his chest and kissed the tumble of her hair. Whispered words brushed across the shell of her ear, apologies and promises unheard in slumber. Their cause was indeed righteous, so he had made himself believe.

Doubt itself never deterred him in the aftermath of the destruction. It had never gave him reason to question that they may not endure the trials set before them – his faith carried him onwards, further into her care and the prospect of success. But did faith hold an answer for love, so soon to be set aside like his gaze into the fire? Duty and circumstance fought to bar him from it at every moment and test his resolve. His frown etched deeper onto the care-worn mask. His thoughts he allowed to consume him once more, the snapping flames in the hearth another instruments to dispel the stillness of the night.

Edging closer, guilt and frustration tainted him. All turned sour. Remorse lingered in the wake of his harshness towards the one other woman who ever mattered to him. Only a man in the Maker's sight, he would never understand the life a mage must suffer. He could never comprehend the fears which she faced every night because of her very nature. For all those years, she bore a mask. Now, however, he trespassed beyond its sanctuary and glimpsed enough to fall in love with the woman behind it, magic and more.

"Without you, I'd have nothing. I remember spending so many weeks near the end in an effort to garner favour, sending letters and seeking rapport in preparation – because of you, I always meant to return to Starkhaven. You'd laugh, but I even had Elthina's blessing, her encouragement even." A half-hearted chuckle rumbled his throat, a forced thing in light of that memory – her death haunted him with every step he made to move forward, that day too fresh to be forgotten. A thumb feathered its caress over his lover's silent mouth, the once velvety-soft skin cracked and dry beneath its pad. Sebastian wondered what she would say had she heard him. Her kind words rose in his imagination to soothe his uneasy mind, his needs put above her own. "May the Maker bless Elthina's soul, but may He forgive me for my selfish wish: I should've asked you then to come with me, Maria. I should've taken both of you away. Should've given into that moment of weakness. Maybe then I could've saved you from this. I owe you both so much and I cannot turn away again. I know it goes against everything you desire now, but I will make you as strong again."

The words slipped from his lips, Sebastian begged to bury them in silence. Shaking his head, his mistake hung in the air like a moth before the flame. To his surprise, Maria's breath continued in a steady rhythm, lost to the throes of unconsciousness before entering the Fade.

_No, the past is the past – you cannot change it. Only a new path will give her peace._

What a fool he was to give words to childish and shameful wills.

The prince sighed again and chastised himself for the part of him that mourned the mask of Kirkwall's former Champion – Varric's stories hid so much of the truth while he painted her with unbelievable courage and power. Unlike those tales, her fate lay elsewhere where she no longer needed to hide behind that title, the disguise meant to deceive the madness around her. By his birthright's power, he intended to dictate that destiny to repay a debt for her loyalty and affections. Hope yet reigned in the notion that some greater purpose guided him: perhaps such troubles were the Maker's way of providing him with someone to care for, a prelude to managing a principality? To regain his stolen throne, he found faith that he first must heal the one who lead him onto that path. For both their sakes, he chose to stoke the fires of strength and passion to renew their purpose. For prosperity, he saw her as his anchor against the tides, his drive to dive into the viper's nest. In return, he imagined himself as her Light. Her desires, her needs - his true goal. Without her, their crusade ended before it even began – it was her desire that turned him towards the duty he once shunned. In this, they shared the same ambition: to retake Starkhaven from the hands of Goran Vael, still a puppet ruler who warmed an ill-begotten seat of power. All signs assured him that only together could they remedy the wrongs done against his people – no other would satisfy that equilibrium.

If he failed to the care for one woman, even one so dear, how could he expect to care for the well-being of the people of Starkhaven?

Their roles reversed, his need balanced hers and the truth flared into brilliance only to dim. In his heart, uncertainty continued to plague him. At every turn, they met with opposition. There had to be a reason for everything that had happened to them, there had to be – nothing happened without cause, some divine intention. Filled with turmoil, he could not help but wonder: were they doing the right thing for either of their futures?

One question built upon the next and Sebastian spiralled deeper into the tempest until he found resolution.

_I cannot be torn – I've faced my demons and I must now make her confront her own. To long have we denied our natures, our purpose. This must be done._

Yes, it had to be done.

_Everything will be fine –this I promise you, Maria._

Heart and mind brought into an accord, the notion calmed the storm until every thought vanished.

Only then did he feel it, an overwhelming sense of wrongness chilling from nothingness. In the corner of his eye, he tried to deny it. Beneath his palm, he wished that he could ignore the slick wetness which felt so warm. The telltale taint curdled the air and he held his breath for but a moment. Red, deep and real, swirled into lines, into designs curled over Maria's skin, carved into her flesh as if cut by a knife tempered by the sun's fire. The lines wormed up her neck and across her breasts. Quicker than any cutpurse, they continued to wrap around her arms until disappearing underneath the linen, staining fabric and skin. Like some ornate, grotesque embroidery, they wove in delicate swirls and patterns, marring face and form with crimson runes and sigils. Sebastian gaped at them, her blood painting the sheets and his own skin.

Maria's brow then furrowed further. Her spine cracking, she arched up from the bed, her body wrenched away from him. What could be done? More blood dribbled from her nostrils and eyes like tears; it trickled from her mouth between thinned lips. All Sebastian saw was red as the mage seized and writhed.

He cried out her name, but to no avail. Horror offered him nothing – he could not help her as he was, not this time. It terrified him. What could he possibly do? No amount of prayer would stop that? What had Flemeth done?

_Maker, guide me. I -_

He stopped.

_Fenris._

How could he be so blind? If it wasn't the Maker's will for the elven warrior to be among their number, he didn't know what other truth remained. Despite being blinded by fear, through the daze he recognized the markings were not unlike those of the former slave's brands.

He had already lost his family, lost Elthina; he would not lose her, too...

He never made it past the door.

Stilled and naked with his hand frozen on the handle, his heart shattered when trembling lips parted and red-washed eyes snapped open wide. The scream which followed rang out in night, pained and despairing before becoming silent once more.

* * *

_Everything is wrong. For all the years of her magic, this awakening is different. It is not the scent of raw magic and charred ruins that greet her. Copper fills her mouth and cloys in her nostrils. A sickening sound choruses in her ears before bright. White-hot hurts brings her to her knees. Her insides scream as though they have been shredded and then lit on fire, dragged over and over through fiendish flames and torrid glass. Both arms and legs refused to heed her, the network of muscle holding her together seeming to rip itself apart. Bones cracked like snapping twigs to the slightest move. Fingers claw the ground, bloodied by the rough dust of a tainted city. Her skin begins to weep, pulled as if carved by a blade dipped in the pool of the hottest molten forge; her nerves torn to the last frayed edge. Blood drips from her nose. Her tears flow red. The singing throb in her head reels higher, threatening to split her skull apart. Every inch of flesh shrieked, tightened and torn beyond its threshold. Each line flares, whiter than true sunlight; the design of her Fate burns its way deeper and deeper. On her knees, she chokes on her own blood before her anguish forces her to convulse and purge it. Is there no end to the madness of agony?_

_Yet it does not end, the delicate swirls clothing her in crimson even as another threatens._

_A part her will not remember how many hours of distorted time she lay there, thrown back to reality long enough to scream. Only Sebastian's face, twisted by some horror, lingers before something dragged her back into that space. Nothing cut through it until in the haze a glimmering crack of light ripped free. Amidst the shadows, it blinded. Between her breasts, the Tear twitches, vibrating more and more as all pain and thought and madness coalesced. Somehow a shaking hand tears the glittering jewel from around her neck and thrust it into the purest glow._

_Such a calling; it brilliance swallows her whole and the numbness follows, empty and wide enough to engulf the soul._

* * *

"You lie!"

Bottles of salves and empty liquor rattled, fear held close to the surface as the prince's fist crashed onto the table. Even Fenris could not staunch the man's rage, knowing more than he cared to admit. Yet for Sebastian's sake, he stayed the truth. Uncertain, he needed to know more before he acted on such suspicions.

"I assure you, Your Highness, there is little I can do."

The harried young mage barely looked up from her charge, choosing duty over arguments. Still, Fenris caught fear lingering beneath her hood, her presence tolerated her only for Maria sake thanks to the templar at her side. Even he had felt it, the sudden spike of raw magic as it made his lyrium brands thrum. Before their companion's plight, the two had been mere bystanders, dispatched during the season to the little hamlet from the Circle as a precautionary measure. Such festivities often times led to greater misdeeds: bloodshed, collateral damage and much more; stupidity and tempers never change. As a healer, the woman served her necessary prison well - she wasted nary a second once her gray eyes fell on the champion. With the stalwart templar close at hand, he led Sebastian away when the mage offered nothing more than her abilities to manage the pain and seal the bloody patterns. Only Maria's will would dictate the outcome, only the Maker or Fate or whatever deity existed - Fenris could have cared less - would see her rise from that bed or not at all.

The warrior only prayed that he was wrong.

"Tell me the truth, Fenris." Sebastian glowered at him over the steeple of his long fingers, the cup of brandy left for him untouched. The militant light and dread burned in the cerulean depths, his power tensed to a hair-thin trigger point. One more word to mar his hope and faith and the veneer of peace would dissolve before they could prepare a counter.

"I'll not pretend to understand the working of the Witch of the Wilds." A simple answer, truthful to the end. "Patience, my friend. Hawke has never failed to achieve her goals; she will meet this challenge head on."

"I know..." Sebastian swallowed a harried breath. His slipped from dignity, hands fallen into his lap. "It's just that she's not strong enough. Not now. Without her magic and the Witch of the Wilds hiding in her shadow, I can't see reason. If this is the Maker's will, my fears grow greater."

Neither desired to speak such words, but events proved their deficiencies: they could not help her.

* * *

_Torment recedes but its memory remains. An eerie absence takes its place, as though something more had been taken; something precious, sanctified. Magic, albeit the barest taste, breathes across tortured flesh, neither cool or hot, but refreshing and comforting nonetheless. Even with her eyes closed, the scent of ash reminds the mage that the Fade still held her spirit. Her fingers scramble for purchase in the dirt and she tries to lift herself up. Strength fails for a time, but desire drags her forward, the desire for control, for a purpose greater than herself: his purpose._

_"Se-bas-tian..."_

_Measure by measure, she hauls herself through detritus of a forgotten realm, seeking the source of the magic tugging at her heart. Again, time distorts, seconds stretching into the unknown until she reaches it, something that should not exist. Her eyes flutter open to reveal the Fade blanketed in fog and shadow, yet just ahead she finds it. Every movement is sluggish, but she cannot stop until she touches it, that crack of light floating in empty space. She trembles, hesitant but it calls to her, a comforting voice in the vastness. She collapses before it, its raw power singeing her skin and, in turn, withdraws. Never has she felt so pure, unprocessed magic. It roils around her, a barrier of some sort rippling and flowing within the Fade, separate but apart._

_"So, is this my prison, Flemeth? The pain you promised me?" Crumpling back onto the ground, Maria begins to sob again. She feels nothing now, not even the pain. Cut off from the rest of the Fade, she may as well be Tranquil; any effort she might muster dissipates, the fruitlessness of her lot realized._

_"My sweet girl..."_

_No, it can't be. Through the tears, blood, and grime, her father's face swims just beyond, warped by the ebb and flow of Flemeth's conjured dome. Once again, she raises a hand to touch the barrier, the sliver of light beneath her palm. The shade of the man matches her, hand to hand. His magic seeps through and he, too, vanishes into the smoke only to reappear within the confines of her cell. Merely a shadow of its power, the spirit of Compassion stared down at her through empty eyes, the very same colour as her own._

_"So, this is the form you've taken?" Even as one of the spirits embodying one of man's great virtues, Maria knew to be wary: spirits and demons served their own desires in the end. This spirit was one of many who shared the same virtue, but having served her father before, her diligently and faithfully, did not make it any different for its brethren. Compassion may not be a demon, but no matter which side of man from which they were born, darkness or light, every power had a price. While demons dealt in blood and souls to draw their power, spirits of virtue responded only to those who sought their basest part. Her father may have bound this one, but she too was bound to its terms as well as those of another. Yet, Compassion would still treat her like the child who lost so much, thrown into the tempest of a changing, brutal world and seeking that what was taken from her._

_"Would you prefer this?" With his voice brimming with a familiar brogue, the dark gaze shimmers into cerulean. Grey robes bleed into polished white armour, the gilded edges glowing in eternal twilight. A mere trick, to be sure, but it is enough... enough to tear forth a sob, to break her down into that little girl buried beneath the champion's veneer. Her face fallen into the dust, she cannot bear meet that face, the voice only enough to leave her shaking. "Does this please you, dear one?"_

_"No... please..." She begs, torn between shame and longing. "Please, give me back my father."_

_A part of her hates taking the offered hand of the thing that so easily wore the guise of her father, that form once again donned at her request. Mimicking him in all things save for true life, not even the Maker could replace the turmoil in her heart to have her father wrap her in his arms. To see his face again, to hear his voice... although far from real, she relishes in Compassion's gift, craving it if only for this moment._

_They stand there in silence; neither wind nor beast breaks through it. The Fade's eerie absence is more frightening than the lack thereof, second only to the magic just beyond her reach. It is Compassion who speaks first which only reminds her that there is more at stake than fulfilling a child's wish and she buries its sweetness. Drawn away, Maria lets her gaze drift towards the dome itself. Even as it denies her control, she yet senses the magic undulating. Compassion's avatar wavers with each pulse, the barrier tugging at him, wearing at him as it does her strength._

_"You sense it, don't you?"_

_She nods, casting out her aura to test the limits further. The magic of the Fade rippled against her spirit but nothing more save something familiar woven through the air, faint and dying. Ice spreads into her veins - only one power would have been able to pull her back from the hell she which she endured upon awakening._

_"Where's Faith?"_

_Compassion was never alone in her life once she grew into her power. At her side, Faith arose, draw by a faith that there was a purpose for her life after the Fall. Together, they each shared with her their mana to augment her magic in exchange for her deeds, feeding off the ambient energies born from them and revelling in taste of the world beyond the Fade._

_Now Compassion only looks down as if in shame, his visage an otherwise impassive mask._

_"She was here when the construct formed, drawn by your state of despair."_

_He offers nothing more and the sense of dread only builds. Drawing her aura back within, tears streak through the blood staining her countenance. The vestiges of Faith's spirit dwindle with each breath, burning away her pain but taking far more with it. With her hands pressed to her chest and her head bowed, she offers up an unspoken word of thanks for such sacrifice. Deeper still, however, she wonders what magic Flemeth conjured that cost her the service of such a powerful spirit._

_A stoic Compassion professes a new truth: his magic could not free her. The dome stole mana, absorbed it and allowed little life beyond its walls. Day after, unable to bear her suffering, he fought against the barrier – an "unnatural creation", he so named it. All that remains is but a shade._

_"Your father bound me to your bloodline, but I have failed even my own purpose."_

_"No..." Maria exhales the sour taste in her mouth. Somehow, courage finds a sticking place and she walks forward, away from the comforting aura of Compassion - she could not blame for either of their weakness. Before, the slow undulating movement of the barrier flickered like the shell of an opal, a prism for colours winking in and out of sight. She touches the translucent cage only to be thrown back to fall at its base, the markings on her skin flaring back into life._

_"Oh, poor little mageling. So helpless. So lost. I would take your pain, child; give you power and beauty."_

_Through a red-washed gaze, a desire demon peers at her as one might a caged exotic beast, its sneer quirked just enough to betray its promises. Just another in a long line since her childhood when she tasted magic for the first time, the nightmare proving real, she muses. Her father once said that mages possessed the experiences of two lives, one of the living world and one of the Fade, accounting for that aged, haunting look that dwelled in the depths of his eyes and those like him. And, like her father before her, she too chose to cast away such empty words - she would not fall prey to those who in turned on blood and death._

_Not now, not ever._

_"Begone, foul creature. You cannot tempt me."_

_The smirk twitches. Its black eyes narrow, the brows dipping sharply before its stare widens._

_"She has rejected your offer, demon. Take flight. **Now**. Your brethren have no claim to this soul."_

_A snarl of indignation left in its wake, the demon's dark aura speeds away, its tail between its legs. Alone again, Maria scrambles on the ground, afraid to look behind her. She knows this voice - no other could inspire such fear save the maker of the prison which surrounds her. Leather creaks with every step, carrying the harbinger of her woe into view. Unchanged from their last encounter, Flemeth's golden stare bears down on Maria's fallen form._

_"Fortune smiles upon us this day, child. Although this spell does not find its roots in blood magic, its energy tends to draw such pitiful beasts; your blood was no more than a focus rather than a sacrifice."_

_Maria fights against her rage, that born of frustration - thanks to this woman, her magic coils at the edges of her awareness, so close but unreachable. She grits her teeth and marshals her mind, knowing all too well that Flemeth may be her own salvation lest the Maker interceded on her behalf. As much as she believed, she knows better than to rely on currying favour for a sinner such as herself._

_"Fortune never favours me, Flemeth. What seal is this?"_

_"The path you walk already carries the weight of one sacrifice, the beginnings of another, and those yet to come. You shall wear blood and magic as the mantle of a queen and have it ripped from you. This is the chance of fate you have drawn, the seal you now bear."_

_"I make my own fate and I fear you only mock me for your own amusement. Now, release me. There is no sport in this." She would fight for her freedom if only to return to her lover's side, whole._

_"Perhaps. But what is done, is done. My hand is stayed."_

_"And who governs the great Witch of the Wilds?" It is a gamble, but anything to elicit a response, some truth to be revealed. A loaded spell, that is certain._

_"Oh, dear child. You know naught of the sea of darkness into which you have waded. Cloaked as you are, you may find light. My part in this began when I took the Tear from your father and now it ends. What happens now is in your own grasp."_

_With this, Flemeth moved to take her leave, but Maria forces herself up. Hardening her mind, she dares to inquire of another delicate matter - it was enough that the Witch had stolen the Tear from her father, another soul hangs in the balance._

_"Tell me how it came into Sebastian's hands, then."_

_Amusement dances in the Witch's eyes like wildfire and Maria withdraws a step, cursing her sudden unease._

_"Silly girl, I would've have taken the Prophetess's form to fulfill my bargain, but alas there was no need."_

_"How so?" Confusion writes itself across her face, faith hanging by the weakest thread. What bargain could such a powerful mage as Flemeth be bound to if not of her own free will? No, that's not important, Maria reminded herself. How the Tear came into Sebastian's possession, that ordeal had always concerned her._

_"Because **I** gave it to him." Her entire form no more than a beam of sculpted light shining in the dimness, the Bride of the Maker turns her gaze towards the Witch of the Wilds as though she has always been there, watching them. "You're time here has run its course, Flemeth."_

_"By your leave, then, my dear." Something unseen passes between the two. An unspoken truce or promise, Maria does not know. Still, the very thought of the Maker's Bride and the Witch of the Wilds could reached such an easy alliance for purpose not yet reveal. Even so, it is Flemeth's knowing smile that frightens Maria most. "Take care, Champion. Be always on your guard."_

_"Wait! Come back!"_

_Her perception shivers at magic's familiar caress. Maria stumbles back, her demand forgotten. The opalescent glow of Andraste's Tear fills the dome, taking both the avatar of Andraste and Flemeth into its blinding brilliance. Once again, only she and Compassion remain, the dormant tear now dangling from his fingers. Its glow diminishes until its liquid light pools within its shape to seep through a spiders' web of cracks. The gem shifts one shine of a colour into the next over its otherwise charred black surface like oil on water. The scent of magic, too, shifts, its course changing. She can savour it now, sense it brushing along her skin as it is draws towards the jewel._

_Yet, the Flemeth's seal still burns, untouched, and she find herself plagued by even more questions._

_"It seems this relic is tied to your mortal form..." Compassion pauses when he eyes the Tear even closer. "Might I keep it?"_

_Ignorant of pain's memory, she reaches out to him and begs for its return, her only hope. Spirits would always be drawn to magic, but she could not lose that one bond to her life. Nearly Tranquil, without her magic, how long would she stand when a mage's mana was tied directly to their life force?_

_"No, I think this is what Flemeth meant by light. If it would heed me, it may allow me access to my mana, if only the smallest taste. My only concern is why the Maker's Bride would offer me any aid or even share the same space with Flemeth." A desperate part of her prays for that to be the truth, the light in the darkness that her sins would not hinder their cause. She needs it, craves it - with even the slightest breath of magic, she could make a difference and rely on her own power again. Sebastian's love and faith could only carry them so far; her very soul requires something more to regain that which she lost._

_"As you wish." He lets the Tear fall into her hands, its delicate chain tinkling in the stillness as she whispers her thanks. "Take care of your father's legacy; Faith is scattered to the winds of the Fade and my power wanes. Perhaps soon you may be alone once more. You must be ready for that day."_

_She nods, holding the gem to her breast as if it may grant her some revelation of peace, of hope. In the wake of Kirkwall's fall, to lose any more of her friends, even those who betrayed her, will always weigh upon her heart._

_"You think of your past. Do you feel justified in your decision?"_

_She cringes at his words, having once faced the same query from those closest to her._

_"What's done is done."Another lie, she tells herself. Sebastian had asked her the very same and her only answered had been that she had did what was right. As he himself had said: "Andraste says we're all children of the Maker and deserve the freedom to walk by his side or throw ourselves to the Void."_

_"You may hide from the humans and the like, but you cannot hide your broken heart from me."_

_Her mask stolen, she answers that perhaps there had been no right choice. Now that she thinks on it, if she had chosen to support the templars, as Viscountess, she could have given the mages a greater sense of freedom, but at the same time, the people would never accept her, the fear of the mages too high. Even she knows the dangers that those with the gift presented and feared them herself. But, in siding with the mages, she saw the Void which many chose to fall into, turning to blood magic. In the end, she agrees that she did not know the right choice, only that she had not wanted anyone to die, to be sacrificed. Every life she had taken until that day had been in self-defence; she hated being someone's end._

_His form brightens in reaction to her emotions, her compassion feeding him. For its strength, he reminds her that that her actions rooted themselves in the empathy towards others. If nothing else, he accepts that alone and he smiles._

_"Thank you." He says as he allows his magic to ease her thoughts. "You faced a difficult task when I felt such anguish in your wake. I heard them through you: all those who had died before, the blood split in oppression, in fear and anguish, rises up from the ground, crying out and driving those into desperation. I expect that it was only a matter of time before the stirrings boiled over._

_"Nonetheless, allow me to offer what assistance I can with what power remains within me, your healing magic always at hand. Without it and that jewel, I fear you may be powerless - the Tear connects us for the time being. Let us not waste the gifts of your world." His empty gaze drifts out towards the rolling plain beyond and he bows his head in shame. "This barrier keeps you severed from the rest of the Fade, suppressing your mana and trapping mine. You shall be weak like those you call Tranquil, but magic can still pass through you. The pain you experienced on your arrival was the last of Faith's magic as it frayed, taken to fuel the seal and carve it onto your soul. Physically and magically, I expect you will suffer greatly both here and away but we are not completely cut off."_

_He points towards the crack in the barrier and explains that thanks to it, he can siphon enough magic to feed her mana, if only to keep it alive. Filling that same gash with his own magic, he might prolong himself to see her to her goals. After all, he approved of her chosen mate and in turn, follows them in light of their plight. However, he must caution her: Sebastian once betrayed everything his faith stood for in an effort to seek justice and revenge; he needs to rebuild his faith on stable ground, not simply cling to a forgotten memory that he may hope to make real once again._

_"Faith is more than living the life you think is right; one must know it within your very soul." The spirit, still possessed of her father's guise, presses a kiss to her brow, an act of love learned from the man to comfort his children in his absence. Through it, she feels his own shame, sensing the mask and her heart grows heavier. It seems she is not the only one to suffer. "Now, our time grows to an end."_

_She nods, feeling the intrusion of another's magic over her true body - someone was trying to heal her from the other side. A soft smile touches her lips, almost grateful that she was not alone anymore._

_"Wait." Compassion captures her attention once more even as the other mage's power tugs at her soul. "I have a message for your beloved."_

_Soft and quite do the whispers fall into her ear even as she feels herself shatter, pulled away into the blackness between the worlds and through the Veil. She fights it if only to see her father's form just a moment longer, but in the end, she is left with only its memory and a message in a language she cannot understand..._

* * *

The moment Maria opened her eyes, Sebastian ordered the others out with barked words too harsh for acceptance, but Fenris ushered the mage and templar to follow him regardless. With their task done for the time being, what choice did he have when his companions traipsed the edge of despair, a loss too great to imagine should they have failed? When the door snapped into the place, the warrior caught one last glance of a broken, babbling woman buried in the embrace of once proud man. Each clutched onto something both tangible and incorporeal, scrabbling for renewed meaning outside of fear.

"Maria, what... what are you saying?"

Against his chest, the rustle of the thin sheet scraping loudly in her ears, Compassion's last wisdom muttered like the Chant of Light. Though unknown to her tongue, the prince knew those words as if he had heard them only yesterday, staring out over the lands of Starkhaven while a now lost soul stood at his side...

* * *

_Among the shower of autumn leaves, Jonathan Vael allowed his sad smile burn into the red-orange glow of sunlight, the last rays painting his face in shadow._

_" **Tada gan iarracht.Níl aon suáilce gan a duáilce féin.Anáit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú. Is ceirín do gach créacht an fhoighne.** " The former prince turned his gaze down on the boy, his eyes dull in colour with the weight of years. Out of the three heirs to the throne, only the youngest, the unwanted son, shared his heart, his passion. Unlike his brothers, Sebastian valued what little his lot allowed him and cherished every moment. "Remember these words, my boy: nothing comes without effort for there are no mixed blessings in this life. Never forget that your feet will bring you to where your heart is and patience, it is a poultice for all wounds. These words will carry you far, Sebastian. In the Maker's light, you will thrive, but you must not forget those around you - they will encourage and strengthen you."_

_Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers twisted the hem of his sleeves._

_"Shouldn't you be telling this to Lucas? He's the heir, after all. Wouldn't he be more fitting to bear such wisdom?" Tongue caught in his teeth, Sebastian waited for the truth that he believe since he learned his place in the Vael legacy - such gifts would never be his, neither power nor favour would he hold._

_"Your brothers know nothing of earning power through effort." Jonathan caught a leaf with the tips of his fingers, its bright crimson catching fire in the sunlight before he snatched it from the air. "Unlike you, they're bred for it, given their entitlements rather than earning them. Take archery - you've had to struggle for that power where they merely have to ask for whatever they desire. They'll never understand the blessings we each have been given when all else is taken for granted. Wherever the Maker takes you, no matter how far or for how long, Sebastian, never forget your promises or your loved ones. Can you make this promise?"_

_Sebastian's eyes chased the captured leaf drift in the wind from his grandfather's grasp, watched it spiral and disappear in the fields that stretched out from the great wall._

_"Yes."_

_He never forgot that smile, the last time he saw his grandfather stand of the great wall that protected his people since before the man was even born. It would be the last time he saw him stand in the sun, untainted by the wasting sickness that would soon claim him._

_"One day, Sebastian, you will surpass even me." That heart chuckle filled the coming evening, so full of life and pride. "Now, let's go before Mother Iona has my head. You know how she is when I keep her favourite pupil from her. Just don't forget our deal."_

* * *

"What does it mean, Sebastian?" Anxious hands dug into the forearms wrapped around her, Maria's troubled mind trying to make sense of all that had come to past. Between Flemeth's curse and Compassion's cryptic message for her lover, she could not stop the trembling of her entire being. Something within her needed to understand lest she break - what use was the taste of magic when she could barely stand on her own feet?

Little did she know that she would not be alone.

"It's a reminder of how far we have yet to go, but that together, we will succeed." His eyes closed, a harsh breath rumbling in his chest. He choked back the taste of tears and bile, the bitter truth. So much did he have to make amends for, even so, he held Maria tighter, comforted by the false hope that the path that lay ahead was the right one when he lacked the power to walk it - he was weak. Even when she questioned him of Compassion's concern for his faith, he did not even have the heart to colour his own hatred for his failures. Freely did he admit them, consumed by their guilt in the wake of risking her life for his gain.

Yes, he had forsworn his vows: first for revenge and justice for his family, then again for Anders's murder of Elthina and the other innocents that followed. Though he sinned, by taking his place a prince, he believed the Maker had given him the opportunity to atone, to serve a greater good and save his people from a tyrant on a stolen throne.

"That doesn't matter, I need to be better... _for you, for all of us, I need to be better for without, remember, and the Maker, I've nothing._ " He could not speak those last words, could not tell her the darkness in his heart before he settle another matter. "Rest now, love. I'll return soon."

Despite her protest, he dressed and took his leave for she regained the strength to leave her bed. Though she may have gained a thread of her once great cloak of magic and her wounds healed thanks to a borrowed mage, her body strived for every breath. Leaving her there, he could confront himself without her comforting touch in hopes of strengthening of his own will.

"Leaving when she needs you most, Sebastian?"

Bare feet poised to act, Fenris stood his ground before the exiled prince.

"She's safe. That's all that matters."

"For now. But there's more to it than that, isn't there?"

"Yes, but I don't intend to trouble her with my mistakes any longer. Too many souls already lay without a peaceful rest."

Slipping past their comrade, Sebastian strode into the night, the burden of a throne light in comparison to the one in his heart.

* * *

_In the heart of the Fade, the mist of magic and spirit alike undulating around him, Compassion stands alone. His power ebbed and struggling for its very existence, he remains a mere shade, trapped just the same alongside the soul of the daughter of the man who bound him, an ethereal knight within the ruins Black City._

_"I do not understand her fate, friend Malcolm, but I shall do as you have asked, even if she may never be whole again... for the greater good as it has been foretold." ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taken me long enough, hasn't it? I apologize for that and although my excuse it due to my health, even now just finishing my recovery from back surgery. I face only more now troubles, but that shouldn't hinder me always, I pray. *sighs* Any road, I know Hawke is BAMF in the game, but this is broken Hawke and she needs healed first... and that takes time, so I hope you can bear with me until then.
> 
> Also, here are more literal meanings of the Gaelic (Forgive me, but I took some liberties to suit my needs in the above text):
> 
> · _Tada gan iarracht._ – Translation: Nothing without effort
> 
> · _Níl aon suáilce gan a duáilce féin._ – Translation: There are no unmixed blessings in life
> 
> · _An áit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú._ – Translation: Your feet will bring you to where your heart is
> 
> · _Is ceirín do gach créacht an fhoighne._ – Translation: Patience is a poultice for all wounds.)


End file.
